


Fade Objects

by KeeperSpock



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Academics at work, Action & Romance, Art History, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Lore, Dorian Pavus is a Good Friend, Elven Glory, Elven Wine, Eventual Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Lavellan is a Professor, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas Fluff (Dragon Age), Modern Thedas, POV Lavellan (Dragon Age), POV Solas (Dragon Age), Professor!Solas, Smart!Lavellan, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Varric is a bartender, canon flexible, neurology, tenure review
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 110
Words: 213,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperSpock/pseuds/KeeperSpock
Summary: Dr. Ellana Lavellan, Art Historian and Dalish scholar, finally secured a tenure-track position at the prestigious University of Orlais. She never thought that accepting the job would lead to a treasure hunt for a long-lost elven orb with her self-proclaimed nemesis Professor Solas Fen'Harel, a neurologist specializing in the relationship of the brain with the Fade.Together, can they unravel the mysteries of the world?Modern Thedas AU
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fenris/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Fenris/Lavellan (Dragon Age), Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 720
Kudos: 343





	1. The One Where Lavellen is Late to Class

**CHAPTER 1**

It was a tragedy that Dr. Ellana Lavellen could not admire her surroundings at the University of Orlais. Usually, the professor was drawn to beauty, and the University campus was _beautiful._ Poets and politicians alike united in their opinion that the ancient quad was the most exquisite architecture in all of Thedas. Located a little north of Val Royeaux, the ancient institution was a blend of classical stone buildings and overgrown weeds. Unlike the trendy stretches of skyscrapers in the capital city, the verdant quad was allowed to run wild, giving it an appealing unkempt quality. 

And yet, Ellana saw none of it. Nor, had the time to admire the perfect weather. Leaves were beginning to change color but had not yet fallen, resulting in a captivating landscape. 

Ellana was late-- _dreadfully_ late. A fact she recognized with a chain of curses unbefitting to her position on campus except for their wit. She was due to arrive at the lectern in twenty minutes. 

It was hard for her not to be jealous of the students swarming past her. Simply, because unlike her, both undergraduates and graduates alike appeared purposeful. A quality she had lacked since she had arrived in Val Royueax the day before. Even the freshman, identified embrium bud pins, the University's mascot, were confident in where to go. 

As an elf, she didn't believe in miracles, but Ellana would appreciate one that got her to her classroom in time. 

She didn't want to give her students and colleagues the wrong impression. Ellana was punctual. Always. As was her custom, she had taken every step in her power to avoid tardiness. The night before she had searched through her luggage to pull out her smartest suit--a gray tweed with a chic peplum silhouette--and hung it on the back of her bathroom door to expedite her morning routine. Rising at the crack of dawn, her hands were automated transforming her wavy hair into a straight bob. 

Having never been to the campus before, she had even made efforts to account for mistakes or delays. Leaving three hours earlier than necessary, she should have had enough time to locate her classroom.

Or so she thought. 

It wasn't even nine o'clock, and Ellana was exhausted. She was organized, yes, but all the rigid controls and expectations she had implemented in the day were against her nature. She would much prefer, for instance, to teach in a casual pantsuit and flats that you could throw on last minute on the way out the door. All her fellow femme human and dwarf professors did. However, the investment in the extra polish of a suit and uncomfortable pumps offered a protective layer from the judgments that came along with her Dalishness. An undeniable fact considering the two tattooed branches following along her cheekbones. 

The extra efforts she made to ensure an aura of professional elegance, and timeliness made her path forward as an academic smoother. 

Ellana was willing to play the game If it advanced her career. 

_“Dr. Lavellan may be a rabbit,”_ she had once overheard a celebrity faculty member say at an academic symposium. _“However, you can’t say she doesn’t have a certain je ne sais quoi._ ” 

When she had first started in her academic career, such ignorant statements had hurt. At almost thirty, however, Ellana had grown accustomed to cutting words, preferring to invest her energies elsewhere. She liked to think the rage powered her to complete, in rapid, succession a workload that other academics could barely complete by their late forties. In record time, she had assembled a formidable portfolio of scholarly publications and grants. A post-graduate fellowship had allowed her to finish her first book--in a rural stretch of Fereldan filled with druffalo farms--and she had some luck stringing together adjunct posts and visiting professorships in the competitive job market. 

Earlier that spring, she had obtained her greatest success to date. Finally, after some struggle, Ellana had heard back from one of the many teaching applications and interviews that dominated her weekends. She had gotten a full-time job! Not only a stable job, but a tenure track professorship in what was considered to be one of the top Art History departments in Thedas. Reading through her offer letter, she was relieved to see a curatorial fellowship (her passion) at the University. 

Walking around the campus, Ellana could barely believe her luck. She would finally achieve her full potential as a scholar _and_ receive a regular paycheck for her labor. 

That is, if she wasn’t fired the first day for her inability to find her classroom. 

Ellana sighed. She needed to find her classroom and fast. Stepping off the main stretch of the quad, she came to an abrupt halt in one of the side courtyards, her purse rattling with the sound of excess coins.

In celebration of the first day of class, Ellana had emptied her emergency change jar with a plan to purchase an elaborate latte from one of Orlais' famous hole-in-the-wall patisseries. As she had drifted off to sleep the night prior, Ellana had imagined how--galvanized by the frothy drink--she'd stroll into her classroom and give a rousing overview of her syllabus (if such a thing were possible). Her students, all one hundred of them in her survey class, would be instantly enamored with the History of Art, handing in each project she assigned in a timely and diligent fashion. 

That fantasy had quickly evaporated when she had arrived on the sprawling campus and couldn’t find the correct building. Consulting one of the many campus maps, Ellana thought she had identified her classroom. Only, once she reached the building in question, she discovered that no such room number matched the one printed on her registration slip. 

A few times, she had stopped and asked a passer-by for directions, only for them to notice her _valleslin_ and stutter awkwardly. One sour woman, who she assumed to be a fellow professor given the stack of printouts she carried, had pretended to speak only Orlesian, a possibility that Ellana found to be remote given that the university's official language was Common. When Elanna had switched to mostly fluent Orlesian, the professor had huffed at her and stomped off. 

Living in Tevinter had been more comfortable. At least the magisterium had made public concessions to their crimes against the People. Orlais spat on them in secret.

Ellana desperately pulled out her cell phone from her purse to look up a more up-to-date campus map. The overage charges would be ruinous, but she had no choice.

She was hitting the buttons of her cell to connect with the internet when she felt a large force barrel directly into her, throwing her backward--with an undignified yelp--into one of the thorny bushes lining one of the lecture halls. 

She couldn't help but think being upended was yet another cruel metaphor for her lack of control over the morning. 

“Creators,” Ellana exclaimed as her eyes met the clear blue sky. She attempted to stand, but the way she had landed, flat on her back, made it difficult to gather the necessary balance. Branches poking into her face mirrored the two thin tattoos that stretched on either cheek. 

Her embarrassment deepened when a striking face peered down at her. 

Haloed by the sun, she hadn't noticed at first, that the stranger was an elf. A fact, she didn't notice until he had pulled her out of the bushes and steadied her as if she were a startled halla. 

As her eyes focused on the man, Ellana felt herself blush. Relieved that if a passerby was intently watching the interaction, that they would assume it was because of her unbecoming clumsiness, and not because of how dashing she found the stranger in front of her. 

He was older than her, somewhere in his early forties. A well-chiseled jawline and an aquiline nose made more pronounced by a shaved head. He radiated an elegance that was hard to put into words. His features were neither delicate, nor traditionally handsome, but somehow so striking that Ellana found it difficult not to be shy. He was tall, especially for an elf, and by the way he had plucked Ellana out of the bushes, as easily as if she were a strawberry or some sort of small fruit, it was obvious he was strong. Mostly, on further study, Ellana decided she liked the way his eyes, a pale blue color she had never seen before, danced playfully in the light. 

“You should be careful not to pause in the middle of the road on the first day of classes,” the mysterious man chastised as Ellana attempted to gain her bearings, “If I am to be so bold, I might even say you owe me a cup of coffee.” 

At first, listening to his words, Ellana thought he was angry and was about to apologize. Looking away and then back up, she spotted a mischievous smile flash across his face that was equally flirtatious and kind. She was about to joke back that whoever this man was, he should be the one watching out when she spotted the torrent of brown liquid staining his otherwise perfectly pressed white button-down shirt. 

“Oh…” she muttered, throwing a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I was trying to find…” 

“Please, Solas, if there are to be introductions." 

"Here," she offered suddenly slipping her phone into her bag. She realized that the offer, without context, was a strange one and worked quickly to summon mana to her fingertips quickly. 

She hadn't used her magic in a while, not really thinking to unless she was in a dire circumstance, but considering the intent way that the man, named Solas, was studying her, she would call this an emergency. 

Waving her fingers over Solas' chest, Ellana instantly restored his shirt to a pristine white as quickly as a whole bottle of bleach. 

“A Dalish mage,” Solas exclaimed with even more interest, “Fascinating.” 

“Ellana, pleased to meet your acquaintance.” she sputtered out nervously. Her long repressed Dalish accent fluttering to the surface as it usually did when she was nervous. "I didn't mean to linger in the center of the sidewalk--but I'm new and unable to find my classroom." 

She made the admission with some hesitation. She assumed, looking at the suit Solas wore, clean and expensive, along with his briefcase that Solas was a senior faculty member. She hated the prospect of making a poor impression considering that she was not yet tenured, and therefore vulnerable to any criticism made by her higher-ranking colleagues. Hence, she added, a little more plaintively than she would with a peer, "I'd be more than happy to replace your coffee another time. I'm afraid that I have exactly seven minutes until I'm called to start class." 

The elf chuckled, amused, “What is your class number?” 

“Drakon Hall 12B.” 

“Over the summer, the administration shortened all the building names. There are inconveniently two Drakon halls, named for separate emperors. An asinine idea."

"Creators, that's." The panic made Ellana forget her composure. 

"If you like, I have some time, and the one you are searching for is right around the corner. If we are expeditious, we’ll be able to arrive just in time.” 

Ellana was about to protest out of politeness when Solas picked up her briefcase from the ground, waving for her to follow. Ordinarily, she would have balked at the order, but she was desperate. Her nerves gave way to another electric feeling when she found her eyes following the sway of Solas' movements. He emitted a grace that was rare for a man, his posture elegant and straight. 

It had been a long time since Ellana had felt instantaneously attracted to someone this way. Focusing on her publications had left little time for new romance. Of course, there were the occasional dalliances, but those were mostly the transitory connections she made with fellow itinerant professors.

As the pair walked towards their destination, Solas flirtatiously glanced back a few times. Positive that she was misreading his intentions, a small voice in the back of her head reassured her he was just ensuring that she was still slightly behind him to the right. 

"That's Drakon," Solas announced suddenly when they rounded a corner. 

"Thank you. I can--" she muttered at the threshold. Her face was growing hotter. 

"I would be remiss not to escort you all the way to your classroom," Solas insisted in a voice that made his mutual attraction clear in a way Ellana found overwhelming. 

She nodded, giving in. Walking through the door he held open for her. The auditorium where she'd lecture, clearly marked and just slightly beyond the entry. Poking her head into the lecture hall, she was glad to find that most of her students were still excitedly chatting with one another and weren't particularly perturbed to be running a few moments behind if they were aware of the fact at all.

Solas stood, offering her briefcase to her with a wry smile. 

“Thank you again,” she mumbled. Despite her best efforts, her hand had brushed against him, a shiver she hoped wasn't too noticeable erupting upon contact. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your full name.” He asked with a smile, extending his hand to shake hers one more time. An excuse, she suspected, to touch her again. She caught his eyes, they were practically glowing, his pupils dilated. For a few seconds, which seemed to stretch out sensuously like a sunbather in the sun, Ellana could feel her heart begin to pound. Who was this man to have such an effect on her? 

She shook his hand, this time ending the exchange with a faint squeeze, “Dr. Ellana Lavellan.” 

“Dr. Lavellan?” He inhaled sharply, the sound disrupting the spell. “The author of _Fade Objects: Dalish Visual and Material Cultures_?” 

“Yes,” she affirmed, her voice cracking a bit with uncertainty, “That was my most recent publication. I’m flattered you’ve heard of it.” 

She was taken aback as the expression on Solas’ face shifted from admiration to worry, if not disdain. 

Ellana was certain that she had miscalculated, yet again, his interests in her. The exchange had taken on a slightly ominous tone the moment Solas referred to her book with the full title rather than shortening it. Who did that? Academia was a small community, and the elves working in it a minority population. Dalish elves, in particular, were almost unknown. Surely, Solas had read about her arrival to campus in a faculty e-blast or some other format. 

The book in question, _Fade Objects,_ had gained her some renown. As far as she knew, no scholar had attempted what she had with the text: to craft a cohesive narrative of Dalish artifacts, relying not only on the clans' oral history but also on the items that were destroyed or lost throughout time. She had argued that the key was understanding that the ancient elves made objects that intentionally reflected in the Fade and thus left an imprint at the site of their creation or destruction. Traveling to a few abandoned ruins, she used her magic to record the sites, thereby developing a comprehensive understanding of Dalish iconography. 

Still, Ellana couldn’t help but wondered what about her manuscript could have offended Solas. He was also an elf, and surely wouldn’t he have found her scholarship about their shared heritage illuminating? 

“It was a pleasure to see you to class on time, Dr. Lavellen. I’m Professor Solas Fen’Harel in the neurology department,” She noticed that he was wincing a bit as he said his name. _Why did that name sound so familiar to her? Neurology?_

With a gasp, she dropped her briefcase to the floor, papers, and laptop tumbling out as she remembered where she had heard his name.

Her methods weren’t perfect, which she had admitted to in the preface. Still, overall the evidence she collected--bolstered with detailed research--offered a significant step toward understanding Elvhen visual and material culture. _“Exquisite,”_ one peer reviewer had written. _“Innovative and interdisciplinary methods lead Dr. Lavellan to uncover secrets lost for over a millennia,”_ another acknowledged.

All except for one review had been glowing. 

The writing of expert neurologist Professor S. Fen'Harel, specialized in the neural coding of magic and the dialogical relationship of the Fade and the brain. 

_“This is nonsense,”_ the review had attacked, “ _A fool-hearty quest full of misguided assumptions of the Fade.”_ The scientist had asserted that it would be biologically impossible for Ellana to have had her reported experiences. At the very least, he had implied, she had been hallucinating. More probable, he suggested, she had fabricated her results entirely. 

She could still recall how crushed she had felt reading the analysis, spending a weekend in bed crying, with her phone turned off. Fortunately, since the author was outside her discipline, not many employers had given the words much attention. She had lost some grant money, but there was enough depth to her research that teaching contracts weren’t pulled out from underneath her feet. 

As her thesis advisor Fiona had pointed out, the most disappointing part was that continuing with such unorthodox work might endanger Ellana’s career. “Better to stick to the concrete in your next publication,” Fiona had recommended. “If you manage tenure, you’ll be able to continue down this path again.” 

And now, her self-proclaimed nemesis was standing in front of her. Ellana didn’t need a mirror to tell her that she was scowling. She was overpowered by white-hot anger. Meeting Professor S. Fen'Harel did not do much to endear himself to her. The attributes she had found attractive moments earlier transformed into repulsive qualities. She could only see his confidence now as arrogance, and his expensive suit a visible manifestation of his pride. 

“You wrote that scathing polemic of _Fade Objects,”_ Ellana snarled. “You’re lucky you didn’t destroy my career before it started.” 

Instead of replying, Professor Fen’Harel calmly crouched down to gather up the papers that had fallen to the floor—collecting them into a tidy pile. Ellana snatched them from him. She was certain the act was not one of contrition but a desperate ploy to hide his shame. 

“Thank you for your help," she said in a forced staccato. "I am going to teach now, that is, unless you have any criticism you’d like to share about my pedagogy.” 

“Dr. Lavellan,” Solas attempted in a mournful voice, “I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t expect---” 

Ellana responded by slamming the door to her classroom. After all, she didn’t have time for any further unkind words. Even if it was only mid-morning,

it had already been a terrible first day, and she hadn't had any time to get a cup of coffee!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Borrowing heavily from DAI canon, but it's not going to be a perfect fit.


	2. The One Where Solas Reflects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas reflects on his past and his bungled introduction to Ellana.

**CHAPTER 2**

As soon as Ellana slammed the door shut in his face, Solas retreated at full speed for his lab. He was appreciative to reach the privacy of his office. His assistant, an exuberant Dwarf, named Dagna, had attentively placed a warm mug of coffee on his desk awaiting his return, along with a stack of reports for his review. His hands were shaking despite the fact that he had a life where most things were taken care of him so he could be left alone with his thoughts. 

Solas hadn't expected to run into Dr. Ellana Levallan on his commute to work. Looking back, however, he found his surprise foolish. Over the summer her hire had been announced in an online newsletter. He hadn't given it much attention because the start of the semester had seemed so far off,L.

Vaguely, he had recalled a notice earlier in the summer announcing her hire in the Art History Department, only he had been in the middle of assisting the Inquisition with unwinding yet another possible plot by the Evanurius. Even if all of the members of the terrorist organization were locked up in a heavily guarded, remote prison in the Western Approach, somehow, they still managed to sow seeds of chaos across Thedas. The elite peace-keeping forces that monitored them, the Grey Wardens, although capable, were not infallible. 

Sometimes Solas took it for granted how absolutely crazy his life was. A professor and an intelligence agent. His first job took up most of his time, but he still dedicated hours to espionage. 

It had started when he was an impulsive young man. He had been pulled into a world of wealth and brilliance seemingly out of nowhere barely out of adolescence.

His childhood had been lonely, abusive, and poor. Still, he had demonstrated an adeptness with school, in between long absences, that had allowed him to graduate high school early. His magic had manifested early, and his test scores had enabled him to graduate secondary school at age fourteen. Despite Solas’ talents, it was probable he didn’t have any prospects. He had gotten a job working as a dishwasher in the only dingy diner in the remote farming community. It was grueling work, but it let his mind wander, as he scrubbed plates and forks clean. 

That had changed when Mythal found him. He had been so dazed when she walked in. Her appearance in contradiction to the greasy tables with laminated menus. Stately, gray-haired, wearing oversized sunglasses and a large gold-link necklace paired with a classic collarless black skirt suit. At first, Solas thought she was lost and would ask for directions. That happened sometime with the passing tourists. The way she approached him, fixedly and with purpose, changed his mind. 

"I hear you are a dreamer, we could use one like you. Will you join me?" She had whispered into his ear. It was secretive, not sensual. Caring in the way a proud mother might be. 

As an orphan, living in a foster care situation, he couldn’t refuse her offer even if its consequences were murky. He had simply nodded. Since she was an elf, he didn't think he was signing up for any strange blood rituals, or other illegal Tevinter gambits. At the time, his goal had been to save up enough gold to get a bus ticket to a bigger city. It was something he had tried to do before, but all of his money kept getting stolen. The risk seemed worth it to Solas. 

Without a word, he left his scrubbing towel on the floor and followed Mythal into her black car. No one would miss him. 

“I think you’ve made a sage choice,” She had said to him in the back of the luxury SUV before the car had stopped at the dilapidated house Solas had been placed in. A few minutes, and a terse goodbye to the farmers who had used him for labor, and Solas had collected all of his meager belongings into a plastic garbage bag he routinely used suitcase. 

That fateful day seemed so far away to Solas now, sitting at his desk. So much had happened since. 

Considering that Solas was a man who thrived on questioning the world around him, he felt nothing but guilt about how he had allowed his new life to pass over him. Mythal had adopted a number of elven youth in similar situations, a scenario she explained away not as charity, but a necessity in a world where human politics dominated and disenfranchised youth. Had Solas been a human, for instance, he would not have endured so much misuse by those tasked to care for him. A situation, she wanted to rectify. 

So when she bankrolled his elite education and nudged him towards medical school, he hadn't given it much thought. After all, some of his other adopted siblings were in similar trajectories. 

He had been Mythal's favorite, however, a situation that brought him an equal measure of pride and self-consciousness. It was he who was allowed to come home from college early and spend the afternoons working with Mythal in her kitchen as she brewed any sort of potions. The conversations revolving around his emerging interests in the brain and channel it into a Ph.D. and M.D. Solas hadn't hesitated to follow orders. He hadn't hesitated to show Mythal his research notes or projects that he was working on. That had been a mistake. 

As dazzled as he was by having clean clothes, and a safe place to live, as well as luxuries he hadn't known existed in his unhappy childhood, Soals was not naive. A few years into Mythal's patronage, he had begun to get the sense that her wealth and position were the product of some sort of nefarious dealings. Although her main estate was in the Kokari wilds, they had holidayed as a family in New Arlathan. The elite city-state of the new elven order on the northern edge of Thedas. Humans, except for select diplomats, were banned. The Dalish would have been shot on sight if they attempted to enter. Mostly, because they had refused to bend the knee as the elite city was formed. 

Mythal had always pushed back on the idea of elven superiority, even if she had been complicit in its practice, but Solas had always thought her above it. The idea made him feel safer. Enrolling in school in Arlathan, however, Solas was swept up in a wealthy and exclusive world. He didn't question many of his peers, who would host lavish get together without a single thought of the expense. Nor, where the money had come from. 

He'd probably still be in Arlathan if Mythal had not been murdered. 

On his last year in residency, Solas had taken a rare vacation to spend the summer solstice at her vineyard in the Kokari Wilds. He had been looking forward to the visit, having not seen his adopted mother for over six months, their communication erratic due to his long hours. He had stopped, at the train station to pick up a bouquet of flowers, thinking that the white buds of crystal grace would earn him a proud smile. 

His hopes were dashed on arrival. The sight still haunted him: all the blood smeared over the marble countertops. Mythal had been gasping for breath on the floor, a deep wound to her chest preventing her from speaking. One desperate look in his arms, and the hand she had touched to his cheek fell listlessly to the ground. 

The secrets emerged after the funeral. It had been private, mostly unattended except for Mythal's inner circle. Solas was instructed, by her ex-husband Elgar-nan, rather unfairly he thought, to say it was a burglary gone awry. His grief had overpowered any of his desire to critically question an order. 

It had not been one of the guests at the funeral who had revealed who Mythal really was. Unexpectedly, it was a human woman. 

Solas had been sitting in the front living room after the service when he heard a knock. Opening the door he found a doll-face woman with auburn hair in an aubergine tracksuit. At first glance, Solas thought the stranger might be a lost jogger. Only, watching the way she moved, her muscles rippling underneath her clothes like a predatory cat, did he realize that the casual outfit was a facade. 

“May I come in?” the woman asked in a thick Orlesian accent. Her voice was kind, polite. Solas liked her despite not knowing why. 

He was tired, however, and whatever this stranger wanted, Solas didn't feel fit to give her. He had been giving all day and wanted to be alone. 

“I need to tell you about Mythal,” the stranger insisted again. 

That got his attention. 

Solas nodded, gesturing for her to join him in the entry living room. It was sparsely decorated with Modernist furniture and minimalist paintings and sculptures. The large, wall-sized windows had a stunning view of the surrounding vineyards. It was dusk, and the pink of the sunset reflected beautifully against the clean, ivory, and beige colored surfaces in a way that before that day Solas had always found beautiful. At that moment, he had felt as if the passage of time was a stain that was too close to his memory of blood or something violent. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Solas offered like the gentleman Mythal had molded him to be. His roughness had been softened by her over the years until he spoke just so. 

“No, thank you.” She said as she pulled down her hood. In the light, Solas could see the woman’s face clearly for the first time. She appeared to be his age, about thirty, with creamy white skin and large purple eyes. It was a face that many would interpret as fragile. Seeing the cunning glint in her eyes though, Solas knew better. He was used to many disreputable characters flitting in and out of Mythal’s home, but this woman seemed different, she was smart. Was she dangerous?

“You may call me Sister Nightingale,” the woman began. “For lack of a better term, I was a friend of Mythal’s. We were working on a critical project together, but I’m afraid that we were betrayed. She sent me a coded message the night she was killed, saying that if something were to happen to her, I was to find you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Solas demured, “I’m a neurologist. I’m not sure how I can help you unless you have a brain scan you’d like me to interpret.” 

“It’s complicated,” the Nightingale said. “I’m sure you knew that Mythal was very _well-connected.”_

Solas had suspected. His best guess was that she was some sort of embezzler--like most of the wealthy of New Arlathan--or dealt with the black market of Elvhen artifacts that Tevinter nobles collected in order to stabilize their magic. Looking around at the surrounding room, he could pick out any number of antique and prehistoric works from before the fall of Arlathan. Certainly, a nice side benefit to wherever her wealth came from. 

“In a manner of speaking.” He replied carefully. “I wasn’t aware she had an acquaintance--I’m sorry, what did you say your name was? Sister Pigeon?” 

“I see Mythal taught you well.” the woman chuckled at his intentional slip, “It is Sister Nightingale.” 

“My apologies, Sister Nightingale,” Solas responded, “How can I help you?” 

Leliana, as he later learned, was her actual name, visited with Solas for the rest of the night. He listened with rapt attention as she explained that Mythal was a double-agent working to bring down the Evanurius from the inside.

It was the first time he had heard the name. Mythal had been one of the founding members, as Leliana explained, of a syndicate of fanatical mages set on restoring the glory of the Elvhen People. Instrumental in the founding of New Arlathan half-a-century ago, the group had quickly morphed into a cruel order that wanted to bring about restitution for elves. At first, the cross-fire had been gentle. Only now, the group had taken to active cruelty, thriving off proxy terrorism and brutalizing not only human governments but Dalish clans. 

In desperation, of all places, she had gone to Orlais seeking out the power of the Chantry to see if they might join her in her quest to bring the Evanuris to heel, the Divine had quickly agreed, and so Sister Nightingale and Mythal aligned forces. They had been close, Leliana sadly told Solas, only their communications had been intercepted. The Evanurius, determined not to be outdone, had turned on Mythal, sending an assassin to do their bidding. 

“Will you help me avenge Mythal?” Leliana had asked him when she had finished her story. 

“Yes,” Solas had firmly. It was the second easiest decision he had made after following Mythal out of the diner. 

“There is one other thing you should know,” Leliana had said before leaving. “Why Mythal sought you out in the first place.” 

He understood Mythal recognized his talent and capabilities, but had not given much thought beyond that.

Leliana took his silence as permission to continue her explanation. “She recognized a peculiar ability in you. That is, your capability to lucidly dream in the Fade. You are the first known individual in the last hundred years with such a skill. “ 

Solas could feel the blood rush to his face. The revelation made him feel lightheaded as he played all the conversations he had with his benefactor over in his head. He had always thought Mythal’s mentions of him as a “dreamer” had been a metaphor, not literal. 

If such a thing was true, and he had no reason to doubt it, it explained why Mythal had steered him towards his research subjects.

Magic, as everyone knew, was weakening more every year. Less mages were born, and those with any sort of skills at enchantment were lucky if they could cast a couple of weak spells. By considering how the brain interacted with the Fade, Solas had already been able to develop several methodologies to strengthen the bond between the two, boosting a mage’s capabilities. 

He hadn’t considered dreaming a part of such pursuits before, but as Leliana began to offer him pieces of the larger puzzle, things began to make more sense to him. 

For instance, it explained how when Solas slept spirits came to him to help with his problems. The ancient Elvhen had names for such entities and he had learned them all. His favorites were always the spirits of Wisdom, who bantered with him about his areas of interests and debated with him how to interpret best the data he gathered or consider what avenues he had not yet questioned.

He had thought all mages capable of such things. Apparently, he was wrong. _Still, what does my research have to do with the crime syndicate?_ he had thought to himself as his head began to ache. 

“I’m not sure why you need my help, exactly,” He asked. “I can understand how some of my research could make the Evanurius become stronger if they are mages, but…” 

“The Evanurius seek the Orb of Destruction,” Leliana patiently continued, “It is an ancient Elvhen artifact that can thin the veil between the Fade and the waking world. If not, tear it down entirely. I don’t think I need to tell you--” 

“It would devastate all of Thedas, to use such a thing. Any mage, even with minimal abilities, could wreak havoc. They could--take over the world….” 

Leliana nodded supportively. “The Evanurius were training you to locate the orb. They hypothesized that someone with your gift could identify it by searching for it in the Fade. By heightening your awareness of how the brain worked, you’d be able to travel longer, go farther..." 

Solas had begun to consider independently, or so he thought, that very idea over the last year in his post-doctoral fellowship. He had even identified several ways to use everyday objects to refract into the magical realm to shape his dreaming experiences. He had also asked himself: could the counter-part be true? 

A chill went down his spine. How else had he been manipulated? More importantly, how had Mythal twisted his dreams (both metaphoric and literal) with such darkness. 

“Solas,” Sister Nightingale interrupted his terrible thoughts again. “Mythal was so proud of you. She often told me you were the son she never had. It was her greatest hope to free you and your accomplishments from being seized by the Evanurius. We need to work together to bring them down.” 

“What do we have to do?” he had asked. It was the question that started it all. 

Together the two had worked to bring the fanatical Elvhen mages to justice in a few short years. The work was ruthless and somewhat morally compromised. Solas had quickly learned in short order how to cheat, how to pretend, and how to kill. Yet, it had to be done. The two had strategically infiltrated the group, identifying the ring leaders. When finally, Solas had pretended to find the orb in a ploy to bring all eight of them into the same room. The Gray Wardens had burst in a tactical strike.

At the time, Solas was surprised that the gambit had worked, but it had. Each of the Evanurius was committed to life in solitary confinement, no chance of parole, on the legal grounds of crimes against humanity. The Chantry in collaboration with the Orlesian crown had worked to keep the whole thing quiet, downplaying the many atrocities, least panic set in at how close the world had come to annihilation. 

In thanks for his participation, Solas had been offered a post at the University of his choice. He had chosen the University of Orlais mostly on a whim, given its dedication to innovating the medical field. If his achievements were the result of spilled blood, he thought he might be able to dedicate himself to the healing arts as a small offering of remorse. 

Half the week, Solas treated patients, the other half he’d teach, and direct research in his private lab. His connections to the Orlesian Chantry had helped him acquire such a thing, but his dedication kept such efforts going. He had mentored several promising young doctors who, in turn, dedicated themselves to curing many rare illnesses and developing medical appliances that could take the place that magic had once used in healing the sick. 

It was a good life, if not a quiet one, except for the occasional summons from Leliana to consult on crimes perpetrated by the few remaining allies the Evanuris could manipulate outside of their jail cell. It seemed that everything was in order. 

That was, until Leliana had sent him the book. 

He found the thick, hardbound tome on his desk one morning. Picking it up, Solas had removed the nug-shaped post-it note off the cover and read, in the spy mistresses' distinctive chicken-scratch, “read this and call me.”

He looked down to see a photograph of a golden halla that had been put through a watercolor filter to make the animal appear like it was floating in the Fade. Printed in a trendy sans-serif font was the title: _Fade Objects: Dalish Visual & Material Culture _by Dr. Ellana Lavellan. 

He had spent the afternoon devouring the contents. The arguments were comprehensive. and elegant. He felt as if the writing transported him entirely into a lost world. The author blended historical accounts with vivid first-hand descriptions of exploring Elven ruins. Using her magic, she was able to peer into the Fade at what the sites, and the objects decorating them, might have looked like over different eras. The text was augmented with careful ink and pen drawings (also by the author), to illustrate what she had seen, thereby filling in several gaps by other art historians. 

It was brilliant, but also dangerous. 

He called Leliana immediately when he shut the book with a quiet thud. She was right to be concerned. The text bordered dangerously on his research of how the Fade could be used or potentially weaponized. It was not an idea that should be widely circulated.

“Did you read it?” Leliana asked with uncharacteristic worry filtering into her voice. 

“Yes. I--yes. You were right to bring this to my attention.” 

“What do you recommend we do?” 

“I have an idea…” he said. 

It was a plan he enacted with no relish after searching on the internet for more information on the author, Dr. Ellana Lavellan. She, like him, had been a prodigy, appearing out of one of the Dalish reservations south of Kirkwall. She had applied for and received a full scholarship at the Denerium State University, followed by a prestigious Ph.D. program at the Minrathous Institute of Technology. 

Reviewing her CV, he recognized that the up-and-coming scholar must be formidable to be awarded several highly regarded fellowships and grants. Her book, if Thedas was a kinder place, should have secured her accolades. Only, if the scholar was to remain safe, he had to put a stop to her experimental methods. 

Without any hesitation, Solas wrote a scathing review. He was careful to inject just enough ire into his words that her work would be questioned, but not too much that she would be the subject of a full-scale scandal. He had followed, for a time, as several subsequent articles were written debating the veracity of Dr. Lavellan’s claims, but once it was certain that she wasn’t harmed too much, he had turned back to his work without much further thought. 

Considering that their fields were so distant from one another, Solas certainly never expected to meet her. And yet he had. 

“Typical absent-minded Professor,” Leliana often teased him. He had been walking to work, a newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other when he had run straight into a body in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Solas had thought to apologize and move quickly on. He was caught off-guard, however, when he looked down at one of the loveliest faces he had ever encountered. Ellana was plain, at first glance, but the more he studied her, the more he could catch how willful she was. Her eyes darted about wildly quickly making sense of the circumstances she found herself in. As she brushed off the leaves stuck to her suit, Solas had to repress a bit of a gasp at how striking he found her. He knew she was Dalish from the two faint tattooed branches on either cheek, but the brown eyes that looked up at him were bright and unrelentingly intelligent. 

He found him smitten with her sharpness, the way she looked at him as if to dissect who he was. 

Solas couldn’t help but uncharacteristically linger. He had been too captivated by Ellana’s steady manner to put together all the hints as he guided her towards one of the lecture halls in the Arts building.

 _Creators,_ he cursed to himself. _She_ _even told me her first name! How did I miss that!_

The words to ask her for coffee that afternoon were on Solas' lips when Ellana had revealed her full name. 

That coffee was never going to happen now. Regretfully, with a wave of mana, he opened a locked drawer in his desk, pulling out a satellite phone, one with the capability to reach one person directly. Pushing a button, Solas heard a few beeps of the dial tone before Leliana’s familiar voice answered with a faint sounding “Yes Solas?” 

  
  
  
  



	3. The One Where Ellana Meets Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana continues to have the worst first day as she meets her colleagues and boss, Vivienne. That is until unexpectedly meets Dorian Pavus.

**CHAPTER 3**

Ellana had almost forgotten how badly the start of her morning had been by the time she exited her classroom. From the lectern, she had spotted only the glare of a few cell phones as she reviewed the details of her syllabus and introduced the textbook. She’d like to have claimed credit for such diligence, but she knew the University of Orlais enforced a strict behavioral code and a high minimum grade point average.

Ellana was thrilled to receive a few cursory questions at the end of her syllabus review. A few of the students had lingered to talk to her after class, mostly with questions about due dates and other project guidelines. She had been especially amused when a young student named Sera, an elf with jagged-cut bleached hair and tartan leggings, had pulled out the textbook. She interrogated Ellana about its contents, highlighting several claims about the elven pantheon as a precursor to Andrastian iconography “It’s nonsense, yeah?” She suggested, stifling a smile, that perhaps Sera should stop by her next block of office hours. 

With a renewed sense of purpose, Ellana was ready to meet her colleagues and check out her office for the first time. After double-checking during the break, she was relieved to learn that all of her obligations were located in the same quad for the next few hours. 

Meandering through the hallways, she was a little overwhelmed by the richness of her surroundings. The arts building where most of her obligations were stationed was modern. All of the hallways, lined with floor to ceiling windows, circled an interior courtyard that was artfully filled with sinewy trees and wild vines. The effect was striking, as natural light permeated every corner. t was so unlike the institution she had completed her doctorate at in Minrathous. There the windows overlooked the sea. Open throughout most of the year, the dust of summer filtered in and out as Professors lectured in a hazy, ancient way that was so different than the constant greenness. 

Ellana could feel her excitement diminish the moment she entered the art history office. A gathering of all human professors huddled over a copy of her book greeted her. The distinctive green foil, an homage to the Fade, dust cover flashing in the afternoon light. Among them, Ellana recognized the sour woman who had ignored her plea for directions. Clearly, none had expected her to arrive on time. Or even worse, didn't care. 

Ellana rolled her eyes when the sour woman whispered to the group, “I saw her this morning, with that barbaric face-tattoos those elves all have--I can't remember what they are called. You should have heard her Orlesian accent. It was terrible!” 

She had heard much worse. 

“What was Vivienne thinking?” A grizzled man wearing a tie two sizes too large for him muttered. “She is definitely a diversity hire.” 

“Roderick,” a white-haired woman with a fashionable bob chastised, “I think you might be a tad jealous given this undermines several of your arguments about early Andrastian mosaics...” 

It was petty, but Ellana enjoyed the startled look on the group’s face when she loudly cleared her throat to interrupt their gossip session. She had learned that most people thought cruelty was a private act and were rarely brave enough to let their judgments be known publically. 

The older woman who defended Ellana’s work turned to her with a smile that the professor recognized instantly as kind and welcoming. “You must be Dr. Ellana Lavellan. My name is Wynne. Welcome to the University of Orlais.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Wynne,” Ellana greeted warmly, outstretching her hand, which Wynne readily accepted, aware that the elder faculty member was making a point to model good behavior. In some circumstances, the act might have been patronizing, but given the kind wink that Wynne flashed her, Ellana didn't find it to be so in this instance. A fact she wanted to remember. 

“It is so lovely to meet you all." Ellana beamed, "I look forward to working with the department. I’m sure there are many productive conversations that we will have over the year.”

Wynne and a few other faculty clapped with a mutter of “Welcome,” but the vast majority dispersed, some to their offices, others to a conference table set up in the middle with crackers, cheese, and other wilting finger-food. Ellana was about to grab a much-needed snack when Wynne stepped over and touched her arm. 

“I’m so glad you arrived. Don’t listen to the others. They said the same things about me when I was the first woman professor hired. I’ve been here for almost fifty years now--can you believe it!” Wynne whispered. “Here, let me show you to her office.” 

“Thank you,” Ellana responded. Even if she didn’t know much about the elder human, she felt a sense of kinship to her. 

The two exited the conference room and turned a sharp corner to a hallway covered in colorful posters and other school advertisements. A few steps away, Wynne directed her to a door at the end of a long corridor. Ellana paused to look at her engraved nameplate, tracing her fingers over the letters of her name and title. “Dr. Ellana Lavellan, Professor of Art History and Fellow of the University of Orlais Museum of Art.” 

Turning the door handle, Ellana revealed a small chamber slightly larger than a walk-in closet. A desk took up most of one wall that faced empty bookshelves. There was one blank wall, ready for a single large canvas or framed print. Many others would have been disappointed, or so Ellana thought, to be in such a cramped space, but seeing the narrow window allowing in an almost adequate amount of natural light, she felt appreciative. She could get a plant. 

“You’ll want to talk to the administrative assistant, Zevran, about any supplies or access you might need." Wynne instructed, "He's a good man, even if he is a bit _odd."_

Squeezing the woman’s arm in appreciation, Ellana responded in her warmest voice. An easy feat, feeling so elated to finally have a permanent space after adjusting. “Thank you truly.” 

“I should leave you to your preparations.” Wynne said with a kind smile, gesturing to a phone on Ellana’s desk, along with a phone directory, “Again, Zevran, the department admin assistant, can help you get set-up. My number is also listed, should you require it. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you need it!” 

Wynne stepped out of Ellana’s office with a wave, the sound of her short heels clacking on the linoleum floors. With a sigh, Ellana slumped into the chair, setting her briefcase down on the desk. Pulling out her laptop from her bag, she opened it, with a type of weariness unbefitting to the noon hour.

Ellana had to remind herself that she had spent the past week driving in a rented car from the Free Marshes. She had only just arrived a day prior, spending the night moving her things, by herself, up three flights of stairs. There weren’t many boxes, but the physical labor had been hard on her. 

That and carting up all her worldly possessions by herself reminded her of what little of a support system she had. Her life on the Dalish poverty-stricken reservation had been difficult. Although her Keeper, a woman named Deshanna, was emotionally supportive, her parents had died in her early childhood, and she bounced around any families willing to take her in. Everyone in her clan was kind, but there hadn’t been many extra resources to help her along the way.

She had been training to be First, but decided rather abruptly, to apply for her doctoral program instead of continuing on that path. The choice, not to take that position in the clan had led to an exile. It was tradition only, or so her Keeper had said, and Ellana was welcome to visit any time. Only, she wouldn't be allowed to participate in the rituals. 

Considering she had chosen to move to Tevinter, however, had been akin to spitting in the face of every tribe member. She had only gone back once, in the past seven years, to collect a few things she had packed away that had belonged to her parents. It had not been a good trip. 

If she failed at this job, there wouldn’t be a safety net to fall back on. 

Meeting Professor Fen'Harel that morning had shaken her further. A bit of doubt surfaced as Ellana reflected on the busy morning that she tried to push down. She was, at that moment, trying to reconcile her discovery that the elusive professor (who had no online presence other than his positions on campus and the hospital) was an elf. His writing had been critical in a way that she thought had sounded wholly human. She had always pictured a man like Rodderick, old and fussy. Not the handsome face that had looked down at her in the bushes. 

She was also pretty sure, she remembered with embarrassment, that had she been anyone else, it seemed that Professor Fen' Harel had found her attractive. 

Now that Ellana knew what he looked like, at least, she could do her best to avoid him. 

A growl from her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t yet had anything to eat that day. She took out her schedule, re-reading her itinerary. She had a few hours before she had her next meeting at the University of Orlais Museum of Art with her new boss. At least the museum was one of the most distinctive buildings at the university: undulating glass and metal plates that shone brightly in the center of campus. 

\---

Vivienne Le Fer sat facing Ellana in her in a gargantuan leather chair. The way the curator had decorated her office made Ellana feel as if she had been swept up into a blizzard. Every object, from the shag carpet to the book covers, was white and iridescent. Ellana couldn't help but think the aesthetics amplified Vivienne's reputation as cruel and ruthless. In-person, Vivienne was nothing but immaculate, dressed in a white pantsuit, with a cape blazer, a couture metal hairpiece over her stunning face. 

Ellana was intimidated but not undaunted.

She had met Vivienne a few times at academic conferences. Even if their conversations were short and to the point, she knew that Vivienne approved of her work--as much as Professor Le Fer could be of anything she did not invent. 

“Darling,” Vivienne had greeted her with two quick kisses on the cheek in the Orlesian style. “I’m so glad you are finally joining us on faculty. I was just so smitten with your book. I can’t wait to see what we can whip up here.” 

Even if Vivienne was gesturing comically at the walls like a circus performer, Ellana knew better than to crack a smile. 

“Thank you, Professor Le Fer, for this opportunity, and I can’t wait to learn from your example.” 

“Vivienne, please.” 

“Yes, thank you, Vivienne, for such a warm and gracious welcome.” Ellana knew she was laying the charm on a little thick, but after her dreadful morning, she needed things to go well. 

“You are such a dear! So my understanding from your contract is that you’ll be required to curate two exhibitions a year, one in the spring and fall. Given your start date, we’ll expect one next spring at the earliest, of course--I know you specialize in the, how shall we say, Elven arena. I know that is a perspective we haven’t entertained very much in our curatorial pursuits.” 

Ellana deliberated as to how to answer. Vivienne’s reputation as a scholar was squarely in the human canon. She valued what she considered the classics, notably traditional Andrastian mage-crafts. She didn’t want to slight the mercurial woman on her first day at the job. That and Vivienne didn’t have much patience for anything that made her feel irrelevant.

Ellana had heard vicious stories of the famous curator breaking young scholars. She was determined not to join that list. 

“I am open, of course, Professor--” 

“Vivienne.”

“Excuse me, yes, Vivienne. I am open to your suggestions for a spring exhibition. I would appreciate-- _greatly_ appreciate that is your guidance, especially as I settle into campus.” 

Ellana had ideas, several, but she thought the deference would appeal to the controlling Chair. 

“I was hoping you would say that, darling,” Ellana noted that Vivienne never managed to say her name. "As you were walking over here, a delightful option presented itself. It seems that the Professor Fen’Harel, in the neurology department, thought the two of you might collaborate on a---” 

“Professor Solas Fen’Harel?” Ellana interjected with a shocked squeal. She could feel heat rising to her face as she broke into a blush as red, she was sure, as a tomato. 

“Oh goodness,” Vivienne stopped, for a brief moment, fire flashing in her eyes, which pushed Ellana further over the edge. “Yes, I quite forgot that you knew him. Wasn’t there some business with your book, _Fade Objects?_ Oh, yes, everyone was talking about it. I do hope that won’t be an issue. Those things _do_ happen. It’s not like anyone died, after all.” 

It took all of Ellana’s willpower to answer affirmatively. She needed this job. Considering her almost exhausted bank account, she required at least a few paychecks. Until next payday, all that was in her fridge was a jar of peanut butter, some bread, and a bag of apples. Despite the feelings of humiliation, she wasn’t above admitting that she needed to compromise even if it was a significant blow to her ego. 

“I think you are right in pointing out what an opportunity this could be for the institution,” Ellana said with a forced smile. She hoped Vivienne noticed that she didn’t answer her question explicitly. What she really wanted to say was that she couldn’t guarantee that she'd use her magic to fry the smug elf’s bald head like an egg. 

“Excellent. It’s decided again. Professor Fen’Harel will be delighted. He was so exuberant when we chatted on the phone. I thought that you two could explore the intersection of art and science. Riveting.” 

“Thank you, Vivienne,” Ellana repeated as if she were part of a chorus line. 

“I’ll have my admin assistant email you both soon to get things started. Now, if you will excuse me, my next meeting should be here any moment--” 

“Oh, yes, of course.” Ellana rose as gracefully as she could muster, extending her hand to the formidable woman who had just made her life a living hell. 

“Don’t be silly, Ellana,” Vivienne said, pulling her in for two quick kisses on the cheek again. “You will be marvelous. I’m sure with all the things you do here on faculty. We are lucky to have you.” 

\---

Ellana was sitting on one of the benches tucked next to the art building. She was doing her best to collect herself while drinking a cup of warm coffee. She had thought that the indulgence might cheer her up after finding her day inextricably tied to Professor S. Fen’Harel. She was interrupted from spilling a few discreet tears by the sound of rapid conversation in Tevene. 

She looked up from her papers to see a perfectly manicured man with a well-styled mustache pacing nearby. Ellana had never seen an outfit quite like the one he was wearing, a brocade jacket with feathered serpents winding their way around the sleeves, matched with strategically ripped leather pants and a low black v-neck shirt. 

The man was boldly swearing-in earnest, obviously banking on how rare it would be for anyone in Orlais to speak the language. The things he was saying, however, were quite obscene--if not suggestive. 

Ellana was quite amused. She couldn’t help but enjoy the man’s brazen style. 

He noticed her staring, and instead of feeling chastened, he flashed her a wild smile. She turned her head slightly, giving him a somewhat exaggerated grimace when he made a particularly vulgar statement comparing the Chant of Light to part of the male anatomy. 

Intrigued, the man stopped walking around and stared directly at her. “Do you understand me?” He mouthed in Tevene. 

Ellana couldn’t help but tease and replied flawlessly, also in Tevene, “I’ve no idea what you are talking about, penises and all.” 

The man laughed before switching to Common. “No, Felix, sorry, I have to go. The most extraordinary thing has happened, a Dalish Elf mocking me in Tevene. I have--” He paused, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I’ll call you later and tell you _all_ about it.” 

He rolled his eyes at Ellana, clapping his free hand like a bird’s beak to hint at his annoyance. 

“Ok--ok, _yes._ Ok. Good-bye, Felix. I am hanging up now.” 

He shut off his phone screen with a click before plopping down with an exuberant huff next to Ellana. He tucked one hand up underneath his chin and blinked at her flirtatiously with two big brown eyes. Ellana laughed at his clowning. She found it charming. 

“I’m sorry to listen--just.” 

“Oh, no, please, Dorian Pavus, at your acquaintance. I’m rather impressed; actually, your Tevene is so much better than my husband’s, and he’s been trying to learn for over a decade. His inflection is a little closer to growling. He is qunari, however, so I know he thinks a little snarl here or there adds emphasis.” 

“Dr. Ellana Lavellan,” She laughed when Dorian drew her extended hand to his lips and kissed it. “I completed my Ph.D. in Minrathous.” 

“Ah, so you went to the Minrathous Institute of Technology,” Dorian said with a bit of a groan.

Saying you went to school in Minrathous was what every MIT alum said when they didn’t want people to judge them as the institution had a reputation for producing entitled and pompous alums. Like the University of Orlais, the elite school was known across all of Thedas as one of the finest, most selective places to learn. Ellana didn't like to show off. She was, at the heart of it, shy. 

“Yes, forgive me. I studied at MIT. I wasn’t trying to be coy…” 

Dorian laughed again. Ellana realized that she was fond of the man even if she had just met him a few moments prior. 

“You must be a new faculty member…” he said, looking at her briefcase and several of the other books she had collected in the span of the day.

“Yes, I’m in the Department of Art History. First day.” 

“Ah, yes, the smug-snake pit.” Dorian snipped, rolling his eyes. “Ah, I mean. There are some nice people there...no offense.” 

“No,” Ellana sighed. She wasn’t sure how much to confide in someone she had just met on the street, even if her instincts told her she could trust Dorian. “It’s been a long first day, and I’m afraid that having a Dalish colleague is a little unsettling to some.” 

“Yes, I can sympathize, as you can imagine, a Tevinter colleague, one whose father is in the magisterium, had some similar reactions.” 

“That’s kind of you,” Ellana mused, sipping on her coffee. “What department do you teach in?” 

“Studio Arts.” 

“Ah,” Ellana breathed, Dorian's wild outfit made more sense. 

“You are a wonder.” Dorian busted out. “You must have a glass of wine with me tonight. I know the best little hole-in-the-wall spot down the street that serves real slices of Tevinter pizza. Not this Orlesian shit they dream up with…” 

Ellana’s face fell. There was nothing more, at the moment, then she wanted than to get to know Dorian more, but she knew that her bank account wouldn’t survive such an expense. 

“Thank you. I’d love it too. Perhaps next week? I can give you my phone number?” 

“Ah, next week after you get your first paycheck,” Dorian knowingly hummed. “Please, let me treat you. It is the least I can do after I said such obscene things in your presence. I don’t know why you didn’t run off immediately.” 

“I couldn’t impose, certainly next--"

Ellana hated charity. 

“There is one condition,” Dorian said with a wink. “You must speak in Tevene the entire time. You’d be doing me a favor. No one here, even the ones that major in it, speak it as well as you.” 

The look in his eyes made it clear that his offer was not because he found her pitiful and insinuated that it was a trade of sorts. An opening of friendship, that both would find mutually beneficial. 

“I think I can manage that." Ellana grinned, happy for the first time since she had arrived in Val Royeaux. 


	4. The One Where Solas Regrets His Choices

**CHAPTER 4**

**xxx-xxx-1654, Unknown Caller,** **2:00 p.m**

S. did you speak with Vivienne? 

**xxx.xxx-3454** **2:05 p.m.**

its handled nightingale-S

 **xxx-xxx-1654, Unknown Caller,** **2:10 p.m.**

she could be terminated. 

**xxx.xxx-3454** **2:15 p.m.**

...excuse me? -S

 **xxx-xxx-1654, Unknown Caller,** **2:30 p.m.**

from her job! what do you think I was implying? 

**xxx.xxx-3454** **2:35 p.m.**

you could recruit her 

**xxx-xxx-1654, Unknown Caller,** **2:40 p.m.**

your plan is better. keep me regularly updated-S

 **xxx-xxx-1654, Unknown Caller,** **2:41 p.m.**

these messages will be wiped remotely

On his phone call with Leliana, they had developed a plan that would allow him to keep a firm eye on Dr. Ellana Lavellan. The Nightingale and Vivienne, long time friends, given their connections to Orlesian royalty (and on-and-off-again relationship), had been in closer touch than he had thought. He learned that although it was likely that Ellana would have been hired as the top candidate for her position, Leliana had done her part to nudge Vivienne to choose the Dalish scholar as a final candidate.

He did not appreciate how the spy mistress had kept that information from him. 

Proposing that he and Dr. Lavellan plan an exhibition together would be an easy way for the Inquisition the elite spy agency that Leliana may or may not oversee (it couldn’t be confirmed, of course, that such a division existed, or that Leliana would have any particular job), to keep closer tabs on her research. 

It wasn’t that Solas was worried about her writing additional publications of the same nature as _Fade Objects._ He had mercilessly seen to that. After skimming the book one more time, he was more worried that she was wholly ignorant of the power and depth of her magic. Although very little of the text addressed her magical process, her ability to describe artifacts in perfect detail hinted that she had remarkable focus and control. Indomitable, even. 

To the uninitiated, Dr. Lavellan’s abilities wouldn’t necessarily be apparent. Magic wasn't as important as it once had been, and since the Circles had long been abandoned, there were very few with the knowledge enough to read the text and catch the nuance. 

If, as Solas was more worried about, one of the Evanurius managed to read _Fade Objects._ it might cause them to kidnap the scholar, or worse, in pursuit of the orb. Solas at least had not been innocent, willfully or not, of their attention. Dr. Lavellan, however, was guiltless. Although Solas recognized that Dr. Lavellan was quite capable, he wanted to do his best to keep her from coming to harm. 

Reflecting on their encounter that morning, he suspected that the task would be difficult. Replaying her anger over and over again was not joyful. He still felt a sense of chagrin after the confrontation. Although he respected the young scholar's anger, meeting her without any preparation had caught him off-guard.

 _How does one design an art exhibition, anyway?_ He winced, realizing that he had minimal background in arts administration. Admittedly, he was also an amateur painter, but that had been a hobby only. Nothing serious, but he enjoyed painting canvases when he had the time as a reprieve from the lab. Still, his subjects were simple, portraits, and wildlife. What did he know about the intersection of science and art? 

“Dagna!” he called out the door. “I need you to come take some notes!” 


	5. The One Where Lavellen Becomes the Herald of Andraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana conquers her to-do list and agrees (perhaps regretfully) going to a performance art piece.

**CHAPTER 5**

On a Friday in mid-October, Ellana woke up with a joyful realization that she didn’t have to rush and get ready for the day. It was fall break--a rare four-day weekend. She had mountains of writing and research to accomplish, but for now, she could linger in the warmth of her bed, a fuzzy blanket pulled luxuriously to her chin as she listened to the lull of cars driving by her apartment building. 

Teaching was going well.

The dedication of her students had surprised Ellana. For the most part, all of them arrived to class on time and rarely took out their phones. Much to her joy, a few eager students had stopped by her office hours and asked pertinent questions. Her graduate TAs, sullen but respectful, had helped her grade the first round of essays, most of which read as if they had not been written the night before. 

What more could a professor hope for? 

Although she was happy, Ellana was also exhausted. The brutal hours required to lesson plan and write from her upcoming publications had worn away her resolve. A fall break was welcome. 

With a yawn, Ellana sat up and bed and surveyed her apartment. When she first moved in, the landlord had apologized for its lack of modern fixtures. However, the historian in her appreciated the charming vintage details, such as the clawfoot tub and the chipped mosaic tiles in the bathroom. She had adapted to living in the tiny space--even if the closet-sized kitchen made cooking anything complicated impossible (not that Ellana had much skill in this area). 

It helped that over the last two months that she had been able to purchase furniture. The first few weeks in Val Royeaux, Ellana had slept poorly on a stack of blankets on the hardwood floors. On the evening of her first paycheck, she had gone to a box store and purchased a queen-sized bed along with a teal cotton bedspread and down pillows. When the second paycheck was deposited, she had added a desk, bookshelf, and dresser. It was all cheap, assemble-it-yourself wares, but it was hers. 

Craving a cup of coffee, Ellana rose and put on a pair of black wool slippers, groggily stumbling a few steps over to the kitchen to boil water. After putting the kettle on, Ellana stretched for a few moments in her nightgown (a converted black slip) and spun whimsically with her arms out in the middle of her shaggy area rug. 

Finally awake, Ellana remembered with a jolt the unpleasant item on her to-do list.

In her exuberance, she had forgotten the email she had received the night before from Professor Fen’Harel. For the last month, she had stalled a meeting with the arrogant elf. It had been easy, considering the limited availability of his assistant, Dagna, had sent her. Ellana had been able to put off meeting with excuses of prior commitments. Finally, Professor Fen’Harel had emailed her and cc: ed Vivienne. Ellana knew she had to respond if she didn’t want to risk Vivienne’s ire. 

[ **sfenharel@uorlais.edu** ](mailto:fenharel@uorlais.edu)

**Subject: Spring Exhibition**

Dear Professor Fen’Harel: 

Thank you for your note. It is a pleasure to work with you on this exhibition. I am eager to explore the intersections of art and science. It will be, I’m sure, an innovative topic. I have gathered several case studies and other conceptual frameworks to explore in the planning process (attached here). Perhaps we can develop some conclusions remotely given your busy schedule?

Warm Regards,

Ellana 

Her phone buzzed with an alert as soon as she shut her computer. With great apprehension, she pulled Professor Fen’Harel’s answer up on the tiny screen, noting with an indignant huff that he had cc: ed Vivienne again. 

[elavellan@uorlais.edu; cc: vlefer@uorlais.edu](mailto:lavellan@uorlais.edu)

**Re: Spring Exhibition**

Dr. Ellana Lavellan, 

Thank you for your email and the attached examples. I will review them shortly. However, I want to impress that it would be most comfortable for us to meet in person. I am free Saturday and will be in my campus office. I understand it is a long weekend, but considering the work ahead, I am sure you will agree, it would be best to start right away. Please confirm you will come to my office at 1:00 p.m. this Saturday. 

Best,

Solas 

Throwing her phone onto her bed, Ellana stomped over to her desk, drafting and deleting several inflammatory responses over the next half-hour, the clacking of her keyboard mixing with the outside sounds of the city. Pausing to count her breaths and heatedly pacing around her apartment, Ellana slammed herself down at her desk chair and wrote a single word response, the brevity of which she thought conveyed the whole depth of her rage more than any insult could. 

**s** **[fenharel@uorlais.edu](mailto:fenharel@uorlais.edu)** , cc: **vlefer@uorlais.edu**

**Re: Spring Exhibition**

Confirmed. 

Ellana didn’t even have time to close out of the browser before she received a response. She noted with further annoyance that Professor Fen’Harel had finally stop cc: ing her boss.

**[elavellan@uorlais.edu](mailto:elavellan@uorlais.edu) **

**Re: Spring Exhibition**

Dr. Lavellan: 

In the event you are struggling to locate my office, it is Valmont, Floor 1. I have attached a map for your convenience. 

I am looking forward to tomorrow’s discussion. 

Solas

Ellana threw up her hands in exasperation, cursing Professor Fen'Harel with every obscenity she knew. Although navigation wasn’t one of her greatest strengths, his inclusion of a campus map was particularly insulting. She had only been lost because it was her first day! The fact that Professor Fen’Harel didn’t understand that only confirmed for her, resolutely, that he was an asshole. 

She couldn’t help but wonder again: What had motivated the senior faculty member to volunteer her for the collaboration? Ellana remembered with chagrin the attraction she had felt upon initially meeting him. 

The sound of her phone buzzing again interrupted Ellana's racing thoughts. She picked it up, curious to see if Professor Fen’Harel had sent her additional demands. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised by the invitation from Dorian. 

**xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:30 a.m.**

$day, 2-day. Drinks on u? 

Ellana chuckled, reading the text. Dorian had warmly welcomed her to campus. The two had instantaneously bonded over their love of art, fashion, and Minrathus. It was apparent, that their friendship ran deeper than happenstance. The art professor had even made an effort to introduce her to faculty members, who, in his words, “weren’t racist old farts.” This included an Antivan diplomat named Josephine, who moon-lighted as a political science adjunct. The trio migrated between their offices on many nights, sharing take-out bags, as they emailed students and researched. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 11:32 a.m.**

Name the spot!

**xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:33 a.m.**

Ugh. Forgot I have to go to a performance my graduating seniors are putting on. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 11:35 p.m.**

That sounds like it might be painful. 

**xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:39 a.m.**

let’s say experimental.

**xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:41 a.m.**

Join me & I’ll $ first round. Also, I’ll drive 2 pick u up. 6 p.m. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 11:42 a.m.**

Please & Thank you!

 _The_ Iron Bull was Dorian’s husband. Ellana had met him last weekend after the couple had invited her to grill burgers and drink sangria on top of their very fancy condo building. Their romance was one of opposites. While Dorian was brazen and rash, Bull was thoughtful and reserved. Both men, however, were exceptionally kind. 

The dinner had been lovely.

Dorian and Ellana had endeavored to speak in Tevene, only as Dorian had mentioned, Bull's grasp of the language was sloppy. Not that her qunari was any better. Bull had attempted, Ellana suspected, to equalize the playing field, to teach her a few words. Her attempts came out like a crude gargling. 

_“No, you go SHUUUUU bas,”_ Iron Bull instructed Ellana with a wink. _Not “sha bas”! One means kill me, and the other means feed me. Depending on where you are in Par Vallen, it might actually get you killed.”_

 _“Oh my,_ ” Ellana had exclaimed, unsure of a polite response. 

_“It’s ok. I’m_ exiled,” Iron Bull shrugged. _“Have been for years. I got caught on the wrong end of a spy deal. Glad I ended up here, met this fellow, and now I am in charge of one of the greatest rugby teams Thedas has ever seen. Much better line of work.”_

 _“Spy deal?”_ Ellana knew her dinner companions were interesting, but she hadn’t guessed exactly _how_ interesting. 

_“It’s a long story, best told with alcohol.”_ Dorian responded before muttering to his husband under his breath, _“Don’t scare away my new friend!”_

Iron Bull laughed, daintily laying a napkin down on his lap before taking a bite of his extra-large burger before putting it down and saying, _“You know for an elf your accent isn’t half bad. How many languages do you speak?”_

Ellana blushed. She didn’t like to bring attention to her accomplishments unless they were relevant. _“Four,”_ she squeaked. 

_“Kaffas!”_ Dorian cursed, _“Which ones? Why?”_

“Comps. Art History means you have to learn two languages, and I already spoke Common and Elvhen, so I took-up Tevene and Orlesian mostly because they are in the same language family. Although, I suspect I would have rather enjoyed Qunari.” 

_“Never too late!”_ Iron Bull proclaimed, rubbing his horns, clearly flattered. 

_“You should have heard Bull when he proposed,”_ Dorian continued with a nostalgic smile. _“Mixed up the Tevene verbs break up and marry--well engagement--they are rather close, you know. I burst out in uncontrollable sobs, thinking that Bull was breaking things off, only to be confused by hundreds of roses laid out...in the apartment.”_

 _“In the bedroom,”_ Bull interrupted, much to Ellana’s amusement. 

_“Yes, in the bedroom.”_ Dorian rubbed his husband’s hand affectionately. _“I don’t think Tevinter has quite recovered from a marriage between a son of the magisterium and a qunari secret agent. Only I could give a fuck what they think.”_

Ellana’s heart fluttered as the two beamed each other, hoping that she too might find such a romance someday. Another text message from Dorian nudged her back into the present. 

**xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:53 a.m.**

Btw fancy reception after. Free champagne! 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 11:56 a.m.**

Not sure what I’m getting into, but I’ll see you then!

**xxx-xxx-1925, Dorian Pavus, 11:58 a.m.**

Only the best, I promise xoxo. 

Ellana opened her closet door, excitedly wondering what exactly one wore to a champagne reception at the University of Orlais.

\---

At half-past, six Ellana walked down the two flights of stairs to the entryway of her building. It was impossible to miss Dorian’s car, a vintage luxury sedan with tinted windows and leather seats, as it was painted a bright purple. She crawled in as gracefully as she could manage in a short skirt and heels. 

Dorian and Bull both greeted her in unison with a casual "hi." 

“Thanks for picking me up!” She responded cheerily, buckling her seatbelt over her bulky fall coat. It was starting to become chilly. 

"It’s the least we could do,” Dorian sighed. “I’m not sure what to expect from this group of students, the ideas they have presented to me keep radically changing.” 

“He hates giving students bad grades, isn’t it cute?” Iron Bull said, adjusting the air as they came to a stoplight a few blocks away. 

“It’s not that! “This student, Sera, always has me worried. She is an instigator. Last semester, several senior administrators visited the performance festival. She threw pies into the audience as, in her words, ‘an institutional critique of the neoliberal and bourgeois ideals of capitalist culture that define the University of Orlais.’ Only when I asked her to define any of those terms, she merely spoke nonsense.” 

Iron Bull and Ellana couldn’t help chuckling, flustering Dorian further. 

“You shouldn’t laugh!” he scolded. “As a result, Now I have to lead a group of fellow faculty members in an initiative to consider the safety and consequences of art student proposals before any event like this.” 

“Wait, Sera, always wearing the tartan leggings, bad blonde dye job?” Ellana asked with a groan. 

“Yes,” Dorian groaned, waving his hands in the air wildly. “You have her in your class? Ah, yes, she failed art history two years in a row. You _must_ know what I’m talking about!” 

“I do…” Ellana trailed off, thinking of a recent conversation she had with the young elf. 

Sera had gotten it into her head that the textbook was ‘oppressive and full of colonialist ideals of beauty.’ It wasn’t that Ellana disagreed with Sera. She whole-heartedly supported the student’s interrogation of the material; only Ellana had made sure to merely use the textbook as an outline and resource for her lectures, supplementing some of the more outdated conventions with contemporary articles. 

Besides, even if Ellana wanted to chuck the damn thing into the wastebasket, the department required the textbook. 

Still, Sera didn’t listen to reason. Last week, in response to a homework prompt to write a visual analysis of any work of the students’ choosing, the disgruntled student presented Ellana with an “edited” copy of the book with black paper cut and pasted over every image to, as Sera argued, “bring attention to the words of oppression.” Ellana didn’t want to fail Sera outright, as she had considered the assignment, but she needed her to commit words to paper. 

“Well, one thing is for certain. It won’t be a boring evening if Sera is involved.” 

“Let’s just hope she does what she agreed to. I do not want to have another conversation with the Provost, where I ask her not to cut funding to the art students again.” 

\---

After parking the car in the faculty lot and walking over to the art building, the party of three entered the basement performance space. It was a large, open room that could fit an audience of about one hundred. On two sides were groups of auditorium-style seating, made out of gray felt-like material, curved around the gray cement-floor stage. A crowd was milling in. It was going to be a packed event. 

Ellana had greeted a few of her students. When the sound of a chime echoed out, Dorian gestured to her, pointing to a stretch of seating near the backstage door. “I have to sit in the front, but let’s go to the side because Bull doesn’t want to block people behind him.” 

Bull nodded, crouching down to sit in the first row. Fortunately, the seats were deep enough to accommodate his formidable girth. Plopping down next to the qunari as the lights began to dim, Ellana noticed that Dorian had pulled out a small notebook and pen, ready to take note throughout the event diligently. 

The chime echoed again, and Ellana faced the stage, surprised to see Sera appear in the center, a spotlight illuminating her lithe form. The young elf was wearing an all-white jumpsuit, eight long appendages sewn up the back as if to mimic a spider's shape. 

“Welcome to the Conclave,” Sera muttered into a microphone, “Mages, templars, nobles, elves, Orleans, Free Marchers, Nevarrans, the whole friggin ensemble of the bourgeois enterprise gather to discuss the terrible state of the world. Yeah?” 

As soon as Sera stopped speaking, the lights flashed in varying shades of emerald, and an eerie soundtrack that sounded like a disjointed rhythm of nails scratching on a chalkboard, the pop of bubble wrap, and water dripping from a faucet played. In the background. Performers in identical outfits to Sera’s appeared as shadowy silhouettes. All of whom were frozen in dramatic poses that made them look as if they were in great pain, or at the very least, constipated. 

“The Chantry is oppressive,” Sera shouted so loudly the microphone rang. 

“Oppressive…” the cast began to chant, causing the word to rise and then fade out like a rippling wave. “ _Oppressive,_ _oppressive_ …” 

“Magic is the arsehole of the neoliberal establishment!” Sera shouted again, squatting on the ground, her face twisted passionately, one hand clenched in the air. 

“Neoliberal…” the cast echoed, walking to encircle Sera, still stationed in the middle of the stage, before laying down in a circle, writhing on the ground like worms caught in the sun. 

It was too much. Ellana stole a glance at Iron Bull, who had covered his mouth tightly with one hand. She had to look away when she caught the glint in his eye, least, the two of them burst into wild laughter. Looking around at the audience, she was surprised at how somber everyone’s face was. She felt as if she wasn’t in on some sort of fantastic joke. _How can they be into this?_

A projector started up in the back of the room, and a video flickered ominously over the stage with images of explosions. The sound of bullets began to echo throughout, and Ellana overheard a few gasps as the cast of spiders started to run in a circle around Sera, who fell to her knees on the ground. 

Suddenly, the room went pitch black except for the light of an exit sign. 

Sera began her monologue again, “We are all here, one, yeah. Payday, yeah. Capitalism, yeah? Get the nobs of Val Royeux out here to continue their colonialist marches. Elf? Dwarf? Human? Qunari? No matter, all are bound to money!” 

“Money,” one of the performers cried, sitting upright. The rest followed with the same cry and gesture. 

“Who will save us?” Sera asked as the lights began to flash green again. 

“A Herald?” One of the performers yelled out. 

“Gracious Lady Bits,” Sera answered. “The Herald of Andraste?” 

“What does that mean?” Ellana whispered to Bull, who had to choke down a laugh. Dorian turned, giving them both a stern look with his fingers to his lip, shushing them. 

Ellana instantly regretted her choice to ask Bull as Sera seemed to have overheard her remark and began to walk over to her in the front row slowly. She considered standing up and leaving, but Sera put her hand out for Ellana to take. With a sigh, she accepted Sera’s hand and stood-up. 

“You will save us,” Sera mumbled into the microphone, pointing at Ellana “Herald of Andraste.” The other performers gasped and then froze again. 

Unsure if she should respond, Ellana turned her head apprehensively. She could see Sera turn off the microphone in her hand, the student whispering to Ellana, “Don’t ruin the performance.”

Beet red, Ellana followed Sera to the stage, her heels clicking on the floor in the silence, and felt the uncomfortable sensation of a hundred or so eyes on her standing in a black cocktail dress illuminated by green light. She became more nervous when the choir began to run around her at a frenetic pace and scream in her face, “ _Herald of Andraste,"_ as the sound of electric static began to fill the room. 

Before Ellana could get her bearings, she felt a dozen or so hands upon her. As she gave an undignified yelp, they picked her up, forcing her supine on their shoulders. She clenched her eyes tightly, hoping for the whole ordeal to be done as quickly as possible, while doing her best to cross her legs so that the audience didn’t see up her skirt. _Dorian owes me so many drinks._ She thought to herself, trying to hold back her anger—the _things faculty do for their students._

Sera began to chant again. “Only one will survive, the chosen of Andraste. The Herald, who will bring change to all of Thedas.” 

Much to Ellan’s chagrin, she could hear the bodies holding her up repeating the chorus, walking around the circumference of the stage, and then out the exit, never once wavering from their lines. She could hear a crash and then heard Sera yelling on the ground, screaming out as if she had been lit on fire. 

As soon as they put her down, Ellana collapsed on one of the couches in the ready room, hanging her head in her hands. The cast cheered before running out for the curtain call. An abashed Dorian crept in, sitting down next to her on the sinking couch. 

“I’ll speak with Sera. Her prospectus neglected to include whatever _that_ was. There were supposed to be multiple participants, and none of them were to be picked up. Certainly not without a signed release.” Dorian somberly sighed, “Although everyone in the audience is muttering about what brilliant satire the performance was and how glorious you were. ‘Fine acting,’ I overheard someone actually say.” 

“Oh, Dorian,” she sighed. “I think I need at least a whole bottle of champagne to recover!” 

“I’m _so_ sorry!” He repeated. “After this, let’s go to this lovely little wine bar I know called The Kirkwall. I know the owner, Varric, and I’ll buy you a magnificent bottle of whatever you want off the menu.” 

“Alright,” Ellana laughed, “Although I don’t think I’d ever use the word brilliant in association with whatever _that_ was.” 

“Students, always experimenting.” 

“If it wasn’t unethical,” Ellana whispered into her friend’s ear, “I think I’d fail Sera out of revenge.” 

“She deserves it, the rascal. Please don’t fail her. I would like it if she graduated as she currently makes my life miserable. Let’s go to the reception. I heard some mention of how regal you looked illuminated in the green light.” 

"Creators," Ellana muttered, wrapping her arms around Dorian in a warm hug. "The crowd really liked it?" 

Dorian nodded, momentarily squeezing her back, albeit with a confused expression on his face. "Unfortunately, I added crowd engagement as a criteria for grading, so she's going to do better than she deserves despite not following any of the instructions." 

Ellana laughed uncontrollably. She couldn't help it. The evening had been so absurd. Getting up, she smoothed her dress and hair, waving for Dorian to follow her out to the reception area. Covering her face with embarrassment as her appearance was met with thunderous applause and a few sarcastic shouts of "the Herald." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I like to think of the performance piece described in this chapter something along the lines of a badly done version of Throbbing Gristle. 
> 
> +Admittedly wrote the last few chapters in a bit of a creative burst, so I went back and caught some embarrassing errors. I'll probably do a much more detailed edit in the next few days--so if you are still reading, thank you! 
> 
> \+ I thought this was a fun way to fanfic the Herald title. Next chapter it's going to provide some great tongue-in-cheek commentary at the reception. Perhaps a certain bald professor will be in attendance? Can't say..


	6. The One Where Dorian Insists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas muses on a suggestion by Leliana

**CHAPTER 6**

Professor Solas Fen'Harel had a reputation as a true interdisciplinary. He had the type of mind that consumed everything from history to theoretical physics with great curiosity. He had audited, on a whim, in several introductory painting and drawing classes over the years. Learning to work with his hands, and the focus required had made him adept at noticing small details his colleagues brushed aside.

Art, he was convinced, had made him a great diagnostician. 

Solas made a point to attend as many of the university gallery openings as possible. He found the frenetic energy renewing. 

Although he anticipated that he might run into Dr. Ellana Lavellan, Solas was determined to avoid the young scholar. Leliana had kept him updated over the last month about the woman's coming and goings--in more detail than he felt comfortable with--but he learned that she and Dorian Pavus, the star of the studio art department, had become fast friends. 

Staying away from Dr. Lavellan had proved to be a difficult task. He had not expected her to win the night through a rousing (if not coerced) performance. Although he sensed the young woman had not enjoyed her time in the spotlight, her sylphlike build illuminated by the green light had made Ellana appear transcendent on the stage. He could tell by the whispering around him in the audience he was not the only one to think as much.

Solas wondered, not for the first time, if Dr. Lavellan was aware of how beautiful she was. It wasn't an exotic sort of beauty, nor a natural one. It was more in the way she shaped herself, a style she had cultivated out of hard work rather than a gift of nature. It was intimidating, but also resolute. 

_"A bit of a crush,"_ Leliana had teased him at a late-night briefing. She had brought along a few photographs of Dr. Lavellan on her route to and from campus, and Solas found his gaze lingering too long on the angular features. 

_"You have to stop with this heavy surveillance."_ He muttered defensively. _"Dr. Lavellan deserves to be free from all this. Have you ever considered the concept of privacy?"_

 _"I'm worried, Solas,_ _the Gray Wardens reports on the Evanurius are growing increasingly fraught. We've separated them into different prisons...I don't know how much I should tell you."_

_"Is Dr. Lavellan in immediate danger?"_

Leliana grimaced. _"Not yet, but I suspect that might change in the months to come. You must form a relationship with her. After you, I assume she would be their next target."_

 _"I've never understood why the Evanurius aren't simply_ \-- _eliminated."_

 _"You surprise me, Solas. You are usually the pacifist,"_ Leliana said with a raised eyebrow. _"Truthfully, there have been several, shall we say, accidents. Only, we've learned--well they can't be killed."_

 _"That's impossible,"_ Solas said, spitting out his wine. Thinking back to their early days as double-agents, he could recall several particular instances of interrogation by Leliana that still left him sleepless. He knew first-hand how ruthless her methods were. 

_"You need to become friends with Dr. Ellana Lavellan. For her sake."_ Leliana said forcefully. _"I know this is the calm before the storm. Call it divine inspiration."_

The two of them rarely talked about Leliana's belief in the Maker, the human god, and how it drove her. Solas, a man of science and an elf at that, did not have strong religious compulsions. That and, after being manipulated by fanatics in his early adult life, he was skeptical of anyone that could be certain about such beliefs. Leliana was not a fanatic but Solas questioned making decisions based on providence. 

Looking at his stern face, Leliana laughed, patting Solas on the hand, _"Call it a gut feeling then, Professor."_

 _"You always know how to make me feel uneasy,"_ Solas complained. _"When I think things might be settled, you appear, and things get worse. Besides, how do you expect me to endear myself to Dr. Lavellan?"_

 _"I'm sure you can come up with something."_ Leliana winked, _"You are charming when you want to be. At least, according to hotprofessors.com."_

 _"You keep that in my file?"_ Solas replied with an annoyed sigh. He was ranked in the top ten professors on the website. "Sexy baritone voice turns all the worst medical diagnoses sound like poetry," one review read. "Has a six-pack underneath that wool sweater. He would rank 10/10 if he wore a skin-tight t-shirt. Or better yet, no t-shirt at all." 

_"I keep everything in your file."_

Recalling the conversation only made Solas self-conscious. He held onto the hope that if Ellana had taken the time to search for him on the internet, that she had not found that particular weblink, lest she think he was a lecher. 

Solas also couldn't resist thinking that the spy mistress underestimated the art historian. Ellana might not be trained in combat or subterfuge, but the more of her publications he read, the sharper he found her mind. Seducing a young professor might seem like sport to some of his less principled colleagues, but he suspected that Dr. Lavellan was not the type to fall for such an act.

It was beneath someone of her formidable intelligence. 

If Solas was honest, Dr. Lavellan's independent spirit made her even more attractive to him.He had recalled with great regret how remarkable he had found her that morning lost and wandering the quad. With a mournful sigh, he thought that if that introduction had gone better, perhaps they would be attending this event together.

He would have to content himself with offering only friendship and support. Anything else would be morally reprehensible. He was keeping an eye on her just so that she didn't come to harm. That would be simple enough. 

Dr. Lavellan was making it easy enough at the moment. He had watched her enter the university exhibition space floating from canvas to canvas completely entranced. He stood, for some time, a generous distance away, grabbing a glass of overly sweet champagne to sip. 

A tap on the shoulder interrupted his vigil. 

"Solas, so wonderful to see you!" The mustached mouth of Dorian Pavus squealed exuberantly. "It's been too long!" 

"Good to see you, Doc," his husband. Iron Bull nodded behind him. 

"Listen, I have a new faculty member. I'd like you to meet!" Dorian exuberantly chirped. "I feel like you'd find her work _fascinating."_

"Oh, I'm sorry, I have to be going," Solas said, quickly holding his hands up. It was baffling to him that Dorian would not be aware of the current tension between him and Dr. Lavellan, surely she would have mentioned it to him. 

"One more moment, really," Dorian said, gently grabbing Solas' arm, firmly enough that he could not flee without making a scene.

"Ellana!" the Tevinter artist called out. "There is someone I have to introduce you to." 

"Dorian, I'm so sorry, my pager, medical emergency." 

"Oh, _please,_ don't be shy," Iron Bull whispered, "We both know your pager did not go off." 

Dorian rolled his eyes, calling again to a very perturbed looking Dr. Lavellan, who stared at Solas with a penetrating white-hot anger so strong that he thought her two hazel eyes might vaporize him. 

  
  



	7. The One Where Ellana Spills the Champagne Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OOPS

**CHAPTER 7**

On her way to the exhibition, Ellana stopped to calm her frayed nerves in the public restroom bathroom, splashing some cold water on her face and reapplying a dash of matte coral lipstick. Upon entering, the University art gallery, however, Ellana's confidence wained. She had spent her time in Minrathous with many of the emerging art stars, even dated a few, but this gathering was so unlike the nonchalant stylings of Tevinter. 

The exhibition room was a mixture of raw concrete, and walls painted a fluorescent white. A string quartet accompanied a hip Orlesian rapper played in the background. Skimming the crowd, Ellana noted, with some amusement, that the art students were easily identified by their rugged thrift-store outfits that contrasted with the designer looks of a flock of masked Orlesian nobles strutting around like gilded peacocks in flounced skirts. Everything screamed money and power. 

Amidst the flamboyant pageantry, Ellana appeared dull. The black satin sheath she had on was decisively Imperium. She had found it by chance in a fashion boutique in Minrathous by chance on the final sale. Over the years, she had worn it hopping between all sorts of wild parties, experimental performances, and high-end commercial gallery events. On a curvier frame, the low v-neck that stopped just above the navel might have been obscene. Ellana, however, was admittedly waifish. She liked how sensual the outfit made her feel, a gold zipper with a dragon-head shaped slider going completely down the back. 

She hoped at the very least, that the confidence she gained from wearing it, would allow her to blend in. 

Surveying the room again, Ellana realized she had lost track of Bull and Dorian. Instead of searching for them, however, she found herself distracted by the surrounding artworks. The solo exhibition was of a recent graduate of the painting program, a female elf exploring the Elvhen pantheon concepts. It was the type of contemporary work she loved; guttural and experimental. 

Turning to study the canvases, Ellana was immediately swept up into the gigantic paintings. Brushstrokes were forcefully applied to the surface in thick globs of oil paint. The overall effect was transcendent as the abstract lines pushed against one another in a mirthful rhythm that the artist would have had to use their whole body to render in sweeping motions. Old Elvhen script was carved into the oil paint by a palette knife, the surface worked over, and re-worked again. Ellana's trained eye couldn't help but notice the subtle homages to ancient mosaics and Elvhen geometric patterns. 

The longer she gazed at the works, the more Ellana felt as if she was transported elsewhere, the marks ecstatic on first view, only to push against a sense of undoing or wilting. 

It had always been easy for Ellana to spend untroubled hours staring at art, even a single work. She had been this way ever since she was a little girl.

"Struck by beauty," her mother had called the tendency. After her parents died in a car crash a week after her eighth birthday, Keeper Deshanna had nurtured the habit further. On the rare occasion, her mentor or another clansperson traveled outside of the reservation, they'd bring back Ellana museum postcards or guides. Sorting through her treasures, Ellana developed a peculiar ability to file away the image of an artifact or painting away with rigid or perfect clarity at a later date. After enrolling in college and discovering that she could major in art history, her career trajectory was decided. 

Keeper Deshanna had only attempted to change her mind once. She had asked Ellana over tea on her first winter vacation back to the reservation if she had ever considered dedicating her intellect to something that would benefit the tribe when she took over as Keeper. Ellana hadn't, and with some guilt, admitted that she couldn't choose another major even if she wanted to. That had been before their relationship had unraveled. 

So, although Ellana wanted to study contemporary art, she had acquiesced that Deshanna had made a fair point, and dedicated herself to studying ancient Elvhen and Dalish art. If she weren't going to do something "useful," she would at least support the People through her scholarship. 

Now, with the resources of the University of Orlais, she could accomplish so much more. 

"Miss," a server in a tux interrupted her thoughts, holding a tray filled with flutes of a fizzy liquid. "Champagne?"  
  
Ellana muttered a quick thank you, taking one of the glasses in her hand and sipping at the slightly too sweet pour. A strawberry plopped rather forlornly at the bottom of the glass in a way she found unsettling. Her attention was going to return to the exhibition canvases when she heard Dorian shout her name. At first glance, she couldn't find her friend. Unfortunately, Dorian's rough leather look was not exactly the most over-the-top outfit that evening.

"Ellana," she heard him call again, "There is someone I have to introduce you to!" 

Glancing over towards Dorian's voice, Ellana couldn't believe her eyes. Standing next to her friends was a bald, sheepish looking elf in a forest green suit. It was Professor Fen'Harel. His tie was askew in a way that Ellana found to be unlike him, as if he had nervously fidgeted with it upon spotting her. She found how uncomfortable he seemed to be powerful. 

How did Dorian and Bull know Solas? She wondered at the idea for a bit, as both of her friends were so kind. Exceptionally so. Ellana struggled with the idea that Professor Fen'Harel had much in common with the couple.S he hadn't even bothered to tell Dorian about the rivalry between them, as it seemed to exist in a separate world from the friendship she had developed with them. 

"Ellana!" Dorian called again, waving with a broad smile. Looking at Professor Fen'Harel standing next to him, Ellana couldn't help but smugly note how plaintive he appeared, putting up his hands in protest. She began to walk over, trying to keep her expression as aloof and disinterested as she was capable of. 

"Dr. Lavellan" The tall elf formally greeted her, clutching his wine glass tensely. She thought the stem might break. Wanted it to even. 

"Professor Fen'Harel." She replied with a curt nod. 

"Or should I say the Herald of Andraste?" Solas continued with a glint in his eye that Ellana couldn't tell was mocking or full of admiration. "A blessed hero came to save us all?" 

The remark had a chilling effect. Overcome with outrage, Ellana began to step back, only to trip on her heel. In her attempt to rebalance herself, the barely touched glass of champagne she held tipped forward, the liquid hitting Solas' squarely in the chest. 

Fortunately, the glass remained in her hand. As embarrassing as it was to drench Dr. Fen'Harel again with liquid, at least Ellana didn't have to worry about shattering the flute. 

Dorian and Bull went silent as Ellana stared at the bald professor as if she were a predator daring him to react. 

"Perhaps I should take to wearing a raincoat when we meet in the future, Dr. Lavellan."

"So, you already acquainted?" Dorian skittishly asked in the background. 

" _I_ _r Abelas,"_ Ellana said in a feigned clipped tone, wondering if Solas spoke any Elvhen. She knew the gesture wouldn't read as hostile to Dorian and Bull, but it was. A test of sorts that the Dalish loved to play with city elves. At the very least, it countered her apology. 

_"Tel Abelas,"_ He responded with a slight chuckle, using his free hand to summon a burst of mana to his fingers, waving his palm over his wet shirt to dry it instantly. 

"You're a mage?" Ellana exclaimed in disbelief. She hadn't sensed any power from him. 

"Yes, is that so surprising?" Solas responded in a dry voice in contrast to his eyebrows arching playfully. 

"We are just about to go to The Kirkwall," Dorian interrupted in an attempt to smooth over the spectacle. "Ellana has never been, and Varric would love to see you, Solas." 

Ellana began to tap the back of her heel on the floor again, wobbling a bit in her rage, only to find relief as Iron Bull's hand on her elbow steadied her. The thought of sitting opposite her adversary over a glass of wine made her cringe. She wasn't sure if she could keep up politeness for that long. 

"Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another time?" Solas smoothly replied. "I'm afraid I have a rather important engagement tomorrow afternoon that I still need to prepare for." 

"You haven't done any preparation for our exhibition?" Ellana accused him a little below a shout, "I have been researching for _weeks_." 

Ellana was mystified. Particularly when all Solas did was stare at her in confused silence. 

"It isn't your tenure on the line!" Ellana scolded in a hiss. "I suggest you collect the resources you want to address tomorrow." 

"Yes, you are correct, Dr. Lavellan. I will endeavor to do so to your satisfaction from now on." 

Ellana was so angry at his analytical response that she stomped away, her heels clattering on the concrete floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of low-level drama here. 
> 
> I like to think the effect of Lavellan's outfit here is like if John Singer Sargent's Portrait of Madame X walked into a Rococo painting.
> 
> Also, was thinking of Cy Twombly (but Dragon Age Elvhen?) with the large canvases.


	8. The One Where Leliana Offers Advice

**CHAPTER 8**

Solas fled the gallery for the crisp autumn air. He found a stone alcove nestled in one of the nearby gardens. A cracked stone bench dating back, as a plaque placed next to it acknowledged, to the original building five hundred or so years ago. Solas slumped down, resting his back against the wall with a disappointed sigh. 

Since he began teaching at the University of Orlais a decade ago, he would often come here, sometimes lingering to drink coffee in the rain when he needed to clear his head. It was a morose, adolescent habit, but nonetheless comforting. He closed his eyes, allowing the cool wind whip over his heated skin.

Solas had bungled it with Dr. Lavellan yet again. Terribly. 

The buzz of a cell phone in his breast pocket woke him from his self-loathing. 

**xxx-xxx-1987, Unknown Caller, 8:00 p.m**

That was painful to watch xoxo Viv & Lei

Solas rolled his eyes. The two women had an off-and-on-again romance that he suspected had more to do with power than love. Especially as Vivienne was married to a high ranking Duke from one of the oldest families in Val Royeaux. He had never understood their dynamic, but apparently the two were in cahoots that evening. 

**xxx.xxx-3454** **8:32 p.m.**

Your support is overwhelming.-S

**xxx-xxx-1987, Unknown Caller, 8:35 p.m**

You need to find a better way to apologize tomorrow.

 **xxx.xxx-3454** **8:36 p.m.**

Do you have any suggestions?-S

**xxx-xxx-1987, Unknown Caller, 8:37 p.m**

Vivienne says you should offer EL access to your collection. 

Solas groaned to himself. Ever since Vivienne had learned of his off-site warehouse of Dalish artifacts and contemporary works that he had inherited from Mythal she had been hounding him to gift it to the University museum for her own curatorial use. It wasn’t that Solas disagreed with her that the works should be in a museum, but he didn’t know how ethical he would find a predominately human-focused institution receiving so many priceless Elvhen artifacts. Not that him owning them was any better. 

**xxx.xxx-3454** **8:38 p.m.**

She would.-S

**xxx-xxx-1987, Unknown Caller, 8:39 p.m.**

Consider it, darling. You’re backed into a rather unfortunate corner. -V

**xxx-xxx-1987, Unknown Caller, 8:39 p.m.**

Oh, and Solas…

 **xxx.xxx-3454** **8:40 p.m.**

Let me guess, these messages will be wiped remotely?--S

**xxx-xxx-1987, Unknown Caller, 8:41 p.m.**

Always. xx.

Solas chuckled. As much as Leliana was getting on his nerves right now, he appreciated her sense of humor. He knew that even if her methods we sometimes suspect, she was doing her best to watch out for him. Standing, a bit wobbly from his pounding headache, Solas walked back to his office. Although it was late, he needed to review the materials that Dagna had prepared for him tomorrow--and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action is going to pick-up soon. As this has evolved, and I've been thinking of future chapters, I'm inspired by a mix of Kevin Kwan's Crazy, Rich Asian series and the CBS t.v. series Blood & Treasure--maybe with a hint of the great Turkish Netflix Show The Gift (but way less dark).


	9. The One Where Lavellan admires Varric's Chest Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana learns more about Solas over dinner. Varric has chest hair, lots of it. Pretty fluffy chapter.

**CHAPTER 9**

It surprised Ellana to see Dorian and Bull running towards her with worried expressions. After all, she had made a bit of a scene in a way that would have caused her embarrassment. She had fled to the outdoors, collapsing on the first park bench she came across. Uncharacteristically overcome with emotion, the scholar fought back a deluge of tears, shivering in the frigid night in her cocktail attire. She had not expected her new friends to chase after her. 

She waved at Dorian and Bull weakly. Both sped up to a brisk jog. Dorian paused to tenderly wrapping her coat around her trembling body while Iron Bull squatted in front of her patting her on the arm.

“I’m sorry.” She gasped. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Bull interjected. “We are the ones that should be apologizing. We didn’t know you and Doc weren’t on great terms.” 

“Doc?” 

“That’s the Chargers nickname for Solas," Dorian explained. "He’s treated their injuries.” 

“Ah,” she breathed gruffly. 

“I didn’t mean to put you in such an awkward position,” Dorian confessed, a bit crestfallen. “Twice in one night.” 

“Oh Doran, I didn’t know you and Dr. Fen'Harel were friends, nor do I want to put you into the middle,” Ellana muttered, covering her face in embarrassment. 

“Perhaps this is a long story best told over a drink?” Dorian asked with dramatic fervor, slipping into performance mode. “Please, let’s speak no more of it until we find ourselves in the warm embrace of The Kirkwall.”

Iron Bull gave his husband a withering stare. He was always asking Dorian to slow down and think before saying something insensitive. 

“I mean, not that I wouldn’t ever want to listen, I only meant to say a healthy serving of red wine might brighten the conversation.” 

Elanna made a snort half-way between a laugh and a sob, leaning forward in an attempt to hug both Dorian and Bull simultaneously. It was an awkward embrace that ended up as mostly an armful of limbs and fabric. It was tender, and heartfelt in a way that Ellana had not experienced in a long time. In her wandering as an adjunct, she had forgotten what it was like to have the support of others. 

“What did I do to deserve to meet you two?” 

“Given your time in Minrathous," Dorian said with wicked glee pulling her into his chest, "probably ritual sacrifice.” 

\---

Despite her protests, the two men fussed over Ellana on their way to the faculty parking lot. Dorian hooked an arm in hers while Bull ambled slightly ahead, his bulky swagger warning off anyone who might dare to share their path. When they reached the purple sedan, Ellana had been ushered into the heated front passenger seat in an attempt to quell her unrelenting shivering. She was relieved when Bull hit the radio button, humming along as he navigated the streets.

After some fervent texting on his phone, Dorians shouted midway through the ride, “Josie is coming!” 

Ellana was excited to see the Kirkwall. Patronized by artists, poets, and other disreputable types, the bar was an off-the-wall destination that rarely made it into Val Royeuax travel guides. If that had anything to do with the bits of gold that the proprietor, Varric Tethras, used to bribe travel writers and journalists, none was the wiser. Too many tourists, after all, would cut down on the Dwarf’s ability to manage a side-hustle of morally ambiguous trade deals. 

Varric, she learned, was an expert in all things. The bar was just one of his many businesses, but according to Dorian, The Kirkwall was his favorite. The Dwarf treated it as a type of office and was often found sitting at the bar, dispensing sage advice to anyone who asked (and many who did not). According to Dorian, he was also an avid ghostwriter of adventure and romance novels, with a long list of titles, some of which were recently made into movies. 

“Careful,” Dorian warned Ellana on the car ride over to the exhibition. 

“Of his unscrupulous business deals?

“No, that you don’t end up as a character in one of his books.” 

Ellana laughed to herself, thinking over Dorian’s words. She didn’t think that she lived the type of life that would inspire a novel. Lately, most of her time was spent editing dense paragraphs about forgotten things. 

"You’ll love Varric,” Dorian announced as they stepped out of the car. Ellana would never have guessed they had arrived at the bar that he had described in reverent tones. No sign marked the location. Nor did it resemble one of the traditional cobblestone patios that served espresso during the day and wine at night. All Ellana saw was a white stucco facade with a battered door that resembled a corner bodega. 

Expecting a bit of a dive, Ellana was astounded when she entered a rich interior with clusters of small wooden tables in the front with short stools and a large oak bar that took up most of the entryway. The scattered patrons were dressed in experimental get-ups, or one case, a group of Dwarfs in stark black suits grumbling softly to one another. Bottles of exotic wines and liquors in a potpourri of vivid styles and colors lined the back wall. A small window cut out the bar looked into the kitchen where chefs flung pots and pans as they worked. 

Ellana didn’t have much time to try and make out the different languages because as soon as she walked and hung her coat up, a squat Dwarf jumped down from one of the bar stools, flinging himself at Dorian and Bull with a loud whoop. 

“Varric," Dorian announced after hugging the Dwarf, "I’d like you to meet one of your new regulars, Dr. Ellana Lavellan.” 

Ellana was struck by his welcoming face lined with smile wrinkles. Varric was stylish, a dense expanse of chest hair amplified by a low-cut t-shirt over which he wore a red velvet smoking jacket. As if to emphasize his pecks more, a heavy gold chain flickered amongst the wiry ringlets. 

“Another Doctor? Are you faculty like Sparkles over here?” 

“I’m an art historian,” Ellana replied, smiling at Dorian’s nickname. No doubt, inspired by The mage's flashy performance art pieces using Tevinter magic rituals as much as his style. 

“A Dalish art historian in Orlais.” Varric marveled out loud, staring intensely at the small intricate branches on Ellana’s cheeks. 

Her tattoos were subtle, and Ellana was not used to having them ogled at so openly. She was unsure what to make of how blatant Varric was being. 

“See, this is why I opened this bar. An ex-qunari spy, a Tevinter mage turned internationally renowned artist, and a Dalish art historian dining together as friends. All far away from home, needing a place to drink. Tell me, Ellana, what is your story?” 

“No, no--Varric. You will _not_ write Dr. Lavellan into your pulp,” Dorian sighed. “I’m still not over the romance novel where the handsome mage with a mustache dies.” 

The two argued for a bit, while Bull whispered into a confused Ellana’s ear, “Died well, but ugly.” 

“Listen, Sparkles,” Varric interrupted the artists' tantrum. “How about I bring you a bottle of my best red on the house as an apology.” 

“It's a start,” Dorian responded with a wink. 

“Alright, let me get you your usual room,” Varric shouted excitedly, stopping by the host stand to grab menus.

The group was escorted down a narrow hallway with doors at the side, one marked as a restroom, and the others closed. Ellana could hear low sounds of talking but was more focused on the smell of spices and roasting meat wafting in the air. She hadn’t had a morsel of food since late morning. 

Varric opened the door to the last room and ushered the three of them in. The space was filled with a long table with bench seating for about six. An elegant centerpiece of blood lotus and baby’s breath gathered into a hammered gold vase that refracted in the dim light added a nice touch. 

It was the paintings on the walls, however, that Ellana found compelling. There were four in total, each filling the walls with large abstract fields of purple and black with gold outlines of Tevinter sigils and dragons. Looking at the Fluid marks, Ellana felt as if she was floating in a cloud.

“Dorian’s corner,” Varric announced with a grin. 

It took Ellana a few seconds before she understood what’s Varric was implying, “Dorian, these are your paintings? I love them!” 

“Early works,” Dorian grinned, clearly pleased at the attention. 

“His necromancy-revival phase,” Bull bragged, pulling out the bench and gesturing for Ellana to take a seat. Varric tossed the menus in front of them and immediately brought back some freshly made bread with homemade butter, which Ellana tore into with relish. 

“So red for Sparkles and Bull here,” Varric mused, bringing in a bottle and uncorking it. He expertly poured the liquid into their glasses and left the bottle on the table for the group to drink throughout the evening. Ellana smelled the earthy aroma, identifying it as a rich pour. _Maybe a merlot?_ Setting down an empty glass in front of her, Varric paused before announcing, “You’re a champagne sort of elf, aren’t you?” 

“How could you tell?” She laughed. In all honesty, Ellana would drink any wine, but champagne was her favorite. 

“I can read ‘em and have just the thing.” 

The Dwarf bounded out of the room, returning with a bottle of champagne with a hot pink wrapper, popping the cork off, and pouring Ellana a healthy serving in an elegant crystal glass, the kind with a wide low rim that always made her feel elegant. The fizzing beverage was a soft pink color. 

"A brut rosé," Varric announces with pride. 

Taking a sip, Ellana closed her eyes. The taste was amazing, dry, but with a subtle sweetness that added just a bit of mellowness to the effervescent bubbles.

“This is so wonderful.”

“It’s Dalish. Made on one of the reservations in the Exalted Plains. The only place you can find it in the city is here,” Varric said. ‘I know their Keeper. We trade back and forth.” 

“Oh, I love it even more,” Ellana replied, feeling grateful to sit peacefully after such a long and terrible evening. She made a mental note to exercise restraint, going forward, not to spend half of her paycheck at the establishment. 

“So, you can order,” Varric continued. “Or, you can let the Dwarf pick.” 

“Dwarf pick! Dwarf pick!” Dorian exclaimed after surveying Bull and Ellana, both of whom nodded. As Varric turned to exit the door, Dorian called out after him, ‘Oh, and Josie is coming!” 

For a few minutes, the room was filled with the sounds of content chewing and drinking. 

“So, I have to ask before Josie gets here,” Bull began abruptly, swishing his red wine in the glass, “What is with you and Doc?” 

Ellana set her glass down and covered her face with her hands, she knew she had turned bright red again, but she wasn’t sure how to address the subject to Bull and Dorian, considering they were friends with Dr. Fen’Harel. Still, she would have to try. 

“It's a long story, but you know my book _Fade Objects?”_ Dorian and Bull nodded encouragingly. “Well, he wrote a rather unflattering review and accused me of falsifying my findings. It caused a minor scandal, and I had grants revoked.” 

Dorian twisted his mustache thoughtfully as Bull chuckled at his husband. “I don’t know much about your research, as you know, I’m not much for… _reading._ As a fellow mage, I understand that what you claim in your book is possible. The negative review? That doesn’t sound like Solas. It’s curious.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to manufacture drama. I didn’t know you were friends,” Ellana declared. After being on the receiving end of so many hurtful comments, she had been careful not to make unfair statements or gossip herself. 

“No,” Dorian replied, “I don’t want to minimize what you are saying. I also know you would _never_ make up your research. I’m only perplexed because, although I don’t know Solas very well, sabotage doesn’t seem his style.”

Bull nodded, “Nice guy, he helped me out last week. My star player, Krem, had a nasty concussion, and Solas stepped in and made sure that he got the best care after some of the doctors had made some nasty comments.” 

“He takes the toughest cases,” Dorian continued. “He’s an expert on not only brain injuries. He’s also helped out a lot of mages when their magic interferes with usual treatment. He's come to all the mage conferences at the University.” 

"He is a mage," Ellana observed. She had been surprised to learn this. There weren't many mages left in the world. Earlier that evening, she might even claim that having her, Solas, and Dorian together in the same room was highly unusual. 

“We could talk to him if you like?” Dorian asked generously. “We don’t know him well, but there is something here that doesn’t make sense.” 

“No, thank you. I have a meeting with him tomorrow. I should have a straightforward conversation with him.” 

“Ah, like a colleague might?” Dorian teased. “The University of Orlais will burn to the ground now that manners have arrived.” 

Ellana giggled as the champagne buzzed in her head. The faculty drama at the University was ridiculous. In the Art History department, that week, two professors had refused to speak to one another when one had taken some finished copies off the shared printer and set them in a folder on top. The gesture had not been warmly received and had resulted in a shouting match where both accused the other of foul play. 

“Why are the two of you meeting if you don’t get along?” 

“Vivienne is having us work on an exhibition together."

“That sounds like Vivienne,” Dorian observed with a sour face, he was often critical of the Chair’s methods and was open his disdain. 

“Now Vivienne," Bull agreed, "is a person who lives for sabotage." 

“You should know, there are some wild rumors about Solas,” Dorian said in an ominous voice. “He consults with the government on all sorts of secret projects.” 

“He’s a trained spy," Bull nodded, sipping daintily from a large pour of red merlot. "Can see it in the way he walks,”

Ellana didn’t know much about Bull’s days in the qunari secret service, but she knew enough to take his pronouncements seriously. No matter how incredible she found the idea that the somewhat awkward neurologist was a capable spy. 

“Oh, really?” Dorian asked excitedly, “Are any of my other colleagues undercover?” 

Bull beamed mysteriously at his husband with a wicked grin. “If I told you that, I would have to kill you.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes before turning to Ellana, “You know he made that joke the first time we had dinner with my parents. My father choked on his _coda alla vaccinara,_ and my mother fainted.” 

Ellana laughed so hard at the image that tears appeared in her eyes as Josie burst into the room. Her friend was dressed in a gold peasant dress, with billowing sleeves, looking radiant as the dim light illuminated her soft features. She stood up to greet her fellow professor with two kisses on the cheek, Orlesian style, before the group sat down to listen to Josephine’s latest travel anecdotes.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ In my headcanon Dorian does performance art and paintings using his magic to do ethereal necromancy inspired works that address Tevinter ancestor worship. Think elegant modern dance with purple fog. Haven't figured out how to work this in yet.
> 
> +If you are also looking for more Solasmancing, I'm also writing this fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342594/chapters/58858012


	10. The One Where Solas Gives a Peace Offering

**CHAPTER 10**

Solas nervously sat at his desk, waiting for Dr. Ellana Lavellan to arrive. For the umpteenth time, he was studying the documents that Dagna had printed off for him along with his research notes. He had spent his evening diligently paging through the papers, driving home sometime past midnight. He had been so tired; he hadn’t even made it upstairs to his bed, passing out on his living room sofa for a few restless hours of sleep before he woke again, got up, showered, and changed. 

He had been in such a rush to return to his office he hadn’t even bothered brewing a pot of coffee, reluctantly going through one of the drive-through cafes that made Orleasians passionately lament the erosion of tradition. 

It was fortunate that he had grown accustomed to very little sleep, sometimes staying up for longer than twenty-four hours to treat patients and then conduct rounds. When he first entered medical school, Solas had missed dreaming, sometimes driving out of the city to find an old ruin or place to sleep in to slip into an ancient space. Ever since learning, however, that the Evanuris had wanted him to use his talent for ill-will, he had been too cautious about indulging in the familiar habit. 

Now he was attempting to pick-up his office. It was one of the largest buildings, with windows that overlooked a section of gnarled trees and overgrown ivy. The furniture was fashioned out of glass and metal giving the space a sterile look. The only disorganized part was the lab reports that his students gracelessly dumped on every available surface. 

He was putting together piles of documents that he still needed to review when his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, when one of his students peeked in and in a nervous voice announced, “Professor, you have a guest.” 

“Dr. Lavellan?” He asked, not bothering to look up from the article he was reading regarding the critical care of treating a brain tumor in mages. 

“Yes, Professor.” 

“Let her in.” 

Solas set down the bound magazine at the center of his desk, gazing up as the young scholar ambled in. Her casual outfit of fitted black pants and a loose-fitting silk tunic in a pastel mauve that draped artfully made Solas realize a creative edge to her underneath her usual costume of fitted suits. However, what surprised Solas the most was the realization that Ellana was much shorter in a pair of hot pink ballet flats. 

“Dr. Lavellan,” He greeted her firmly, standing to offer her his hand, which she took, squeezing his fingers a little harshly, her scowl deepened in a way he found threatening. A feat, he considered, considering the time he had spent undercover. 

“Please sit,” he gestured to a silver-gray fabric chair opposite his desk. When Ellana did not say anything in return, Solas swallowed nervously before speaking, “I have read through your exhibition prospectus, but before we start, there is another conversation I’d like to have. Surely, you must wonder why I asked for us to work on an exhibition together.” 

“That should be obvious, Professor.” Dr. Lavellan retorted. Although her tone was churlish, it made her sound more severe than an adolescent. If he intimidated his students, never once losing his temper, he wondered what it was like to be on the other end of her ire as an undergraduate. 

Solas slid a large volume towards her. It was an extensive catalog, about a thumb thick, with a matte black cover. He crossed his arms, refusing to continue until she cracked open the tome. An act he deemed necessary to recover some of his power. Stubbornly, Ellana stared at it a few moments before flipping through the pages with distaste.

It brought him some smug pleasure that the art historian stifled a gasp when she realized what she was looking at. 

Solas had waivered over Vivienne’s recommendation to allow the art historian access to the collection. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t think of another way to make an appropriate peace-offering to Dr. Lavellan. He had endeavored o keep historians and curators away from it, unsure of the ethics of allowing scholars to ransack it for their celebrity. Surely, if anyone were to appreciate such a grouping of elven heritage, it would be a Dalish art historian. 

The only Dalish art historian in all of Thedas. 

“I share this with you in confidence,” Solas began. “I am an orphan and was rather unexpectedly adopted by an eccentric but extraordinarily wealthy woman. She was a great patroness of the arts, and when she passed away, I inherited her estate, including this collection of works.” 

_It was a half-truth, really._ The estate had been broken up amongst Mythal's other wards. His adopted siblings took her cars and houses, and money. He had been the only one to realize the value of the art collection. Not of its monetary value, but it's cultural importance. 

Ellana appeared dumbfounded as she processed the information. He knew what she was thinking: What were these Dalish artifacts doing in the hands of a single private collector? Purchasing one such item was morally ambiguous, but an entire warehouse full was beyond offensive.

“I didn’t realize the extent of her collecting until after she passed away," he said by way of explanation. "I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that these artifacts should not be in private hands. Nor, perhaps at a humancentric museum. I have given away most of her estate over the years to charitable causes, but I have struggled to find a fair way to steward these. I certainly do not consider myself an owner of such heritage.” 

Observing that some of Ellana’s anger was melting away, Solas was pleased to think that perhaps he had gotten through to her. His chest fluttered a bit when she made eye contact with him for the first time, a determined glint in her stare, one that was a mixture of pain and hope.

At the very least, he had her full attention. 

“Where are these works? How do you take care of them?”

“There was a trust set-up by my adopted mother for their care. A warehouse that employs art handlers outside of the city limits stores the bulk of the collection. Others are on indefinite loan to museums. I am positive none of the works were stolen outright. At the time, I believe she viewed collecting the goods as ensuring their longevity and uniting them. Most, in fact, were purchased from noble human families.” 

“I am familiar with some of these artifacts,” Ellana said with reverence, holding up a picture of a wolf totem carved out of lazurite, and then turned to another of a halla holding a gigantic opal in its antlers. “I knew they were in private hands but didn’t suspect it would be a single collection.” 

“I thought perhaps,” Solas stammered in a somber voice, “As one of the only art historians to have studied Dalish works, you might have recommendations of how to make restitution to the clans. I worry, admittedly, that many of the reservations would sell the works to human collectors once again.” 

“That money, however, is sorely needed!” Ellana sighed angrily. “You have no idea of the poverty and abuse. With one of these sales, a reservation could set-up better schools, receive proper medical care--” 

“Yes, and if you flood the art market too quickly,” Solas gently cut her off, “the value of the goods would be significantly lowered. The economics, I’m sure you are aware, are fickle. Ideally, I think it would be good to set-up a museum or other resource, reallocating the trust to sustain a reservation long-term.” 

“Ah,” Ellana breathed, realizing the extent of the dilemma. 

“At the very least, I thought that granting you access to this collection would alleviate one of the issues that your exhibition prospectus, which is completing the necessary loan paperwork in time to manifest a critically engaging show. I do not mean to speak ill of my colleagues, but Vivienne has certainly put new faculty members in more tenuous positions.” 

Eliana's brow furrowed. He knew that she was fully aware of the web that she had been caught in, but would also be unwilling to speak openly, knowing that a displeased word in the wrong ear might threaten her bid for tenure. 

“You don’t need to comment on that, certainly,” Solas continued gently. “I ask only one thing if you wish to make use of this resource.” 

"Yes?” Ellana asked cautiously. He could tell that she was clinging to the book. Somewhere inside of her subconscious Solas imagined she was fighting the urge to flee with the catalog. 

“That the source of these works never be officially acknowledged. I think you’ll agree how important it is that information regarding such a collection be carefully guarded. Admittedly, I am also a private man and do not wish for any attention.” 

“Yes, of course,” Ellana said gravely. Closing his eyes for a few short seconds, Solas could feel a small flash of what felt like electricity in the room, the kind that mages gave off when they were excited, undetectable to non-magic users. It had been some time since he had felt such a thick saturation of mana in the air.

 _She might be more powerful than I am._ He thought to himself, filing away the information for another conversation. 

“Professor Fen’Harel,” Ellana said in a level voice. “I can’t express how appreciative I am of you sharing this information with me. Only, I have to confess I can't conceive why after writing that scathing review of my work, implying--if I interpreted your words correctly that I falsified my findings--that you would trust me with such a valuable opportunity. I must ask, as your colleague, what are your motivations?” 

Solas inhaled deeply. He had suspected that Dr. Lavellan might ask such a question at this meeting. He hadn’t prepared, in his opinion, a satisfactory answer. “I thought perhaps, this would be a way to apologize for my carelessness in writing such a polemic.” 

Ellana shut the cover of the catalog with a loud thud, her eyes narrowing at him yet again. “Yes, but surely you stand by your convictions. If so, what do you have to apologize for?” 

Solas was thrown off yet again by the intelligent woman sitting in front of him. He knew she had disarmed him, rather skillfully. He gripped the edge of his chair tightly to steady himself. He was a practiced liar, but it was not a skill he enjoyed using. Indeed, not with her. 

“You must understand, Dr. Lavellan, I did not think that we would ever be colleagues. Now that we are, I wish to make amends as I learned my words caused you hardship. I do not retract my article. However, I wish to start anew if possible.” 

Gazing at the tattooed branches on Dr. Lavellan’s cheeks twisting into a scowl, Solas was positive that she did not accept his words as the whole truth. She stewed for a bit, mana's feeling mana in the room becoming hot and dense as her anger brewed. 

“I want to make it clear, Professor Fen’Harel, that I am only collaborating on this exhibition with you as that is what my Chair has asked of me. I do not need your favors, or your resources, or your pity. I accept them only as it is a requirement of this assignment, not to absolve you.” 

“Yes, I understand,” Solas replied sadly. He couldn’t help recalling with a bit of agony how wonderful the promise of their first meeting had been. He had been drawn, no doubt, to the strength of Dr. Lavellan, and although he deserved the full-range of her wrath, it had the unfortunate by-product of reminding him of their initial attraction. 

“Now,” Dr. Lavellan continued with a steadfast gaze that bordered on threatening, “I do think we need to select a theme for this exhibition and delineate roles.” 

The two chatted for some time, both taking detailed notes. The conversation was civil but a bit forced at times. Occasionally, Solas would dare to look up and watch the intense focus of the scholar, her elbow leaning on his desk, her eyes rapidly skimming passages of text. Her mind was sharp, and Solas struggled to keep up as Ellana quickly aligned concepts and practice. 

After an hour or so, Dr. Lavellan closed her notebook, announcing, “I think we have come to a decision, Dalish artifacts as proto-science. I will select the artifacts, and you will identify the equivalent medical instrument. It is not the most elegant concept, it will be possible but given the time constraints." 

“That seems adept,” Solas agreed. After some further negotiation, they landed on a schedule and consented to meet every-other-week until the exhibition was up and finished. Dr. Lavellan was able to do the majority of the work, but with Dagna’s support, Solas thought that such an undertaking was at least possible. 

“Good,” Dr. Lavellan responded, soundlessly collecting her things into her briefcase. She was interrupted by the sound of a massive crash outside the window. Solas realized, for the first time, that it was pouring outside, a heavy deluge that was no doubt freezing. Turning to study Ellana, he realized that she was woefully underdressed, her jacket made out of a light material, no umbrella in sight. 

“Did you drive?” He asked in concern, pulling out his cell phone from his breast pocket to pull up the weather report. “There is a flood warning.” 

“I don’t have a car,” Ellana admitted. “I will be fine with the train.” 

“I can drive you home if you like, I was heading to the hospital after this to catch up on charts.” He made the offer without thinking through the ramifications. Such a favor from an older professor might put the young woman in an uncomfortable position, even if he would never take advantage of her. 

Solas paused searching her expression for worry before speaking again. 

“I can at least drop you off at the train, it’s the Saturday schedule, so certainly it will be a further walk if you live in the main stretch of the city.” 

It was clear Ellana she had forgotten that she had at least an hour-long commute back, whereas, during the week, it was only a short amount of time outside. She’d be lucky not to be soaked through, both herself and her papers. 

“Will it not stop raining soon?” 

“I’m afraid not. Dagna, my assistant, can come too, if it makes you more comfortable.” He insisted. “She’s working on an engineering project here at the lab and the hospital. Usually, she tags along when I go back and forth on the weekends.” 

"No, it’s not that. I have to stop by my office to pick up a few texts.” Ellana admitted. “I have an article due at the end of next week and need to footnote.” 

“I have the time,” Solas insisted. “Really, and the parking garage is under the building. It is the least I can do.” 

“Ok, thanks,” the woman said, her posture shrinking a bit as she stepped outside his office before accusing him sharply. "You ask your assistant to come in on the weekends?"

Solas laughed, "I give her unlimited vacation, actually. She's working on her dissertation project right now, so I try not to take up her time." 

"I see," Ellana said, her temper cooling again. 

“Let me collect my things, and call for Dagna,” Solas responded excitedly, sweeping a stack of reports into a non-descript tote bag. Once he had taken his coat off the back of the door, and double-checked he had everything he stepped out of his office, calling loudly “Dagna! Do you need to go to the hospital today?” 

He heard the Dwarf’s usual giggle as she sprinted from her office down the hallway, wrapped in a mismatched assortment of knitted sweaters, hats, and scarves. “I’ve been ready for hours, Professor. Did you lose track of time again?” 

“You could say that,” Solas said in a cheerful voice. “May I introduce you to Dr. Lavellan. She is the art historian I am collaborating with on the exhibition. This is my assistant, Dagna, without whom, the neurology department would not function.” 

“So nice to meet you!” Dagna said exuberantly. Solas realized that the two women were not so distant in age, about a decade younger than him, if not a decade-and-a-half. 

“A pleasure,” Dr. Lavellan said formally. “Although, please call me Ellana _."_

“Alright, let’s go,” Solas said, playing with the keys in his pocket and putting on his coat. The three strolled down a concrete flight of stairs, down to the basement parking garage. He enjoyed listening to Dagna chatter away, as he usually did, the occasional polite question coming from Dr. Lavellan as she clarified his assistant’s areas of focus (or lack of one). When they reached his car, a black Wyvern-hybrid, he hit the button twice to unlock the door. Dr. Lavellan sat in the back, buckling her seatbelt with a cautious glance at him in the mirror, while Dagna played with the radio. 

“Ok, first stop the arts building." Solas announced in a deep baritone, "Dr. Lavellan, do you mind running in, and we can wait here?” 

“Of course,” Ellana said in the warmest voice he had heard all afternoon. 

She quickly unbuckled herself, running into the building. Dagna began to sing along to the hit song on the radio, flipping through a schematic in the car. One song turned into three, and then before he realized it, as the windshield wipers steadily went back and forth, three turned into half-an-hour. Solas had a sinking feeling that something was not right. The sense of unease grew when he saw a team of campus security running into the building. 

“I am going to go see what’s wrong,” he said as calmly as he could manage to Dagna. “Do you mind watching the car?"

His assistant nodded unphased at the strange request. She was used to his unusual missions and had even consulted on several of them. As he exited, he could hear her move over to the driver’s seat, the sound of gears adjusting so she could drive it comfortably clattering in the background.

 _I'm so glad she thought of installing that set-up_ Solas sighed to himself as he ran into the building, hearing Dagna roll the window down and shout, “Professor, text me when I need to swing the car around?” 

As soon as he reached the inside, the cell phone in his front pocket buzzed. His panic only increased when he read a message presumably from Leliana. 

**xxx-xxx-5498m Unknown Caller, 2:45 p.m.**

The bow mistress has escaped. Found a pet. 

**xxx-xxx-5498, Unknown Caller, 2:45 p.m.**

I’m heading to UoO now. Can you meet me there?

It had been years since Solas had read her code word for Andruil, the most unstable of the Evanurius.

His heart pounded as he hastened his step with magic, zooming up the stairs in record time. He wasn’t sure where Ellana’s office was located, but he at least had a rough idea of what hallway it might be. Panting by the time he reached the top of the stairs, Solas was worried it might be too late, as, upon his arrival, all he saw was a sea of dark red blood covering every wall surface as the buzz of walkie-talkies echoed along with the sound of security officers shouting to one another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one of the fun parts of writing this fanfiction is that Solas has relationships with other characters that he couldn't in the game given that he can be honest with them. Obvi, he and Dagna are p. darn cute. I also am enjoying the friendship between him and Leliana, I think they'd enjoy the spycraft thing together if circumstances were otherwise.


	11. The One Where Lavellan Won't Give Up

**CHAPTER 11**

Ellana wasn’t sure what to make of Professor Fen’Harel after their meeting. His apology had been murky.

She sensed a bigger story at play, as it didn’t appear to Ellana that Solas believed anything he had written in his review. Reflecting on Dorian and Bull’s words from the night before, she wondered if they were correct in thinking there was something other than sabotage behind that motivated him to write the polemic. _What else could it be?_

Cradling the catalog that Professor Fen'Harel had given her earlier that afternoon in her arms, Elana felt her anger softening. He had put considerable effort into making amends. The voice he had used to speak of the collection he offered her access to had been respectful. It was evident to her after their meeting that he cared deeply about safeguarding the works and holding her scholarship in esteem, at some level, if he was willing to trust her with such a task. 

_At the very least, it was kind of him to give me a ride home._ The walk from the car to the front door had soaked her coat. Finding her way to public transit would have been miserable. Taxis and car services were expensive in the Orlesian capital, and although she could afford to use them on occasion, she didn’t want to spend her money needlessly. 

Considering she and Professor Fen’Harel would be meeting together every other weekend, Ellana felt she still had time to study the Professor’s motivations. _And his stormy blue eyes_ a dark voice sang in the back of her head. No, she had not forgotten those few blissful moments they had spent together walking the quad before she had realized who he was. Knowing his identity now, however, would make any relationship impossible other than a perfunctory friendship. 

Climbing up the stairs to her office, Ellana decided to put such thoughts behind her. She might never learn all of Professor Fen’Harel’s secrets, but she knew if she waited, some would inevitably surface over time, giving her a more comprehensive understanding of the neurologist. 

She had pulled her phone out of her jacket lazily as she turned towards her office, tucking it away as there were no notifications. Reaching the end of the hall, Ellana was startled to see a woman towering outside her office door. The stranger was all legs, tan skin, and long auburn waves that fell in soft ringlets to her waist. Ellana was captivated by her severe beauty. Noticing two pointed ears and the woman’s almond-shaped eyes the color of honey, she realized she was face-to-face with a fellow elf. 

“Dr. Ellana Lavellan,” The woman spoke in a gentle whisper. “I was waiting for you.” 

Ellana was about to apologize and ask how she could help when she saw what the mysterious woman was holding, by its antlers, a dead halla carcass.

Rather than fleeing, Ellana felt her mind sharpen. Searching the hallway, she discovered that she had inadvertently walked into a grim scene, the entire hallway drenched with blood. She counted not only the halla in the woman’s hand, but another three, all with slashed throats that had bled out in thick torrents onto every surface.

It took all of Ellana's self-control to keep her panic at bay and to remind herself that she didn’t have time to dissect the scene, only that she needed to find a safe route away from it. She resolved to back away slowly, not breaking eye contact with the woman who was considering her with assiduous consideration. Fumbling for the cell phone in her coat pocket, Ellana hit the power button exactly three times for emergency services. The operator on the other end of the line could be heard asking in Orleasian what the problem was. 

“They will not save you, _da’len,”_ The woman said in melancholic Elvhen before Ellana could answer. “Put down your books and come with me in peace. I offer this gift to you only once.” 

Ellana carefully set down her books on the linoleum floor and put her hands in the air. She didn’t intend to go anywhere with the woman, but she thought that it might buy her a few more minutes to come up with a plan if she appeared cooperative. Recalling from the faculty orientation guide that emergency services would be automatically triggered regardless if she answered, she put the phone down as well, relieved to see the red button on that indicated that someone, _anyone,_ was still listening on the other end. 

“You surprise me, Ellana,” the woman said with admiration as if she were an intimate friend, her two eyes flashing as she stepped closer to her. 

Ellana could feel the sharp sensation of static percolating in the air and noticed that the woman had dropped the halla, carrying with her a gold staff outfitted with a crystal that flickered. _She is a mage,_ Ellana realized. _A powerful one. Still, what could she want with me?_

 _"Hahren,”_ Ellana cajoled while silently wondering where security was. _So much for that quick response time._

The woman flashed a wicked grin. “I will tell you a riddle, _da’len,_ of the People—a hawk and a hare chase the sun. The halla flees from it, while the dragon hunts it, while the wolf outwits them all. Who am I?” 

_Creators, this woman is a sociopath._

Ellana began to feel the electric mana thicken, closing her eyes. She pictured her reserve, building it up and pushing it outwards. There was a ringing in her ears as her spell nullified the women’s magic, the forcefield of her barrier was powerful, and although she was not the most skilled of mages, the woman across from her appeared to struggle to cast. Drawing her hand out in front of her, she extended her fingers, clenching it into a fist and then releasing the full force of her power. 

The woman cried out before rapping her staff on the ground, an equal measure of mana hitting Ellana directly in the chest, forcing her down onto her knees. Placing her hands down on the ground in front of her, she fought back a wave of nausea as the air grew hot. 

Ellana flashed back to a memory of standing in her Keeper’s kitchen. A roving gang of humans had raided the reservation determined to pick off the elves to claim the land. Frightened, Ellana had struggled to sleep for months after, worried that they would return in the dead of night. 

“Don’t worry, _da’len,”_ Keeper Deshanna had consoled her, “Your magic is strong, and you can protect yourself.”

Focusing on the memory, Ellana called on her minimal magic reserves, picturing herself gathering it together like it were watery clay flowing between her fingers. She was so tired, having almost depleted her pool of mana. 

“It is of the last resort,” Deshanna had lectured her as a teenager, “You can always cast mind blast. It will repel anything in the room--magical and physical--, but it will knock you unconscious." 

Ellana was resolved not to succumb to her opponent. Falling flat on her face, she could hear the puddles of halla blood around her splash as she slapped the ground with whatever energy she had left, the loud whoosh of her spell filling the air with a current that tingled before exploding like a supernova. 

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note here, Ellana stays calm and thinks through the problem the entire time. (THIS IS BECAUSE SHE GETS SHIT DONE)


	12. The One Where Solas Keeps Hospital Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and finally the halla make sense.

**CHAPTER 12**

Solas was seated in a hospital waiting room, sipping on a styrofoam cup of vending machine coffee. It tasted revolting, but he had grown accustomed to the tinny flavor over his years spent in late-night hospital wards when nothing else was available. He was sitting opposite Leliana on a sofa. His friend was intently reading a tabloid-style magazine with garish neon-colored headlines like “Married to a Darkspawn” and “Drug Smuggling Nugs Invade Redcliffe Castle.” 

A woman dressed in maroon scrubs entered the room, pulling down her surgical mask to announce in a distinctive cadence, “Tis remarkable that Dr. Lavellan survived. She is still unconscious, but I expect that she’ll wake soon. She put up quite the fight.” 

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Leliana responded in a terse voice, slapping the magazine in her hand shut. 

Solas met Morrigan in medical school, learning some odd years later that she was an Inquisition agent as well. He knew that Leliana and Morrigan had a complicated history, resulting in part as Morrigan rarely heeded her superior’s demands. She was, after all, fickle, reckless, and manipulative. But also, Solas had observed, a competent neurosurgeon. The two of them sometimes consulted each other on cases, and although Morrigan sometimes made him uneasy, he did not carry any ill-will towards her. 

Solas had breathed a little easier when he spotted Morrigan waiting outside the hospital doors when he hopped out of the back of the ambulance. After all, his colleague was one of only a handful of doctors employed by the hospital, besides himself, competent at treating magical injuries. 

“What is the prognosis? Diagnosis?” Solas asked unable to keep his words straight. He was leaning back in his chair in a weak attempt to appear neutral even if internally, he was shaking like an earthquake. He would have preferred to treat Ellana personally, but ethics would argue that her animosity towards him would have been a conflict of interest. 

“Some severe ecchymosis and contusions on her face, a few rib fractures. No internal hemorrhages, I expect she’ll be up and talking within the hour, if not already. She’ll be in some minor discomfort and pain but nothing that should interfere with her everyday life.” 

Solas and Leliana exhaled in unison. 

“Although it is not for me to say,” Morrigan continued, “It appears you two have a much larger problem to convincingly explain to the scholar what happened.” 

“Broken promises, half-truths,” Solas mused, searching Leliana’s face to try and discern what the spymistress was thinking, “What compelling story will we weave for the unsuspecting Dr. Lavellan to wake up to?” 

Memories of Ellana in the ambulance flashed before his eyes. Her face was swollen and discolored; blood was running out of her nostrils. She had slipped in and out of consciousness, calling out desperately in Elvhen for her parents. When he suggested to Leliana that they be contacted, she informed him that they were both long dead. He advised the paramedics not to administer any sedatives if it made her drift off too far into the Fade. So she had suffered. 

Solas was heavy with guilt. Dr. Lavellan would surely protest knowing that Solas had seen her In such a state, but considering he was the only mage on site able to stabilize her with his mana, he had ridden along doing his best to offer comfort. 

“We could invent a story, a roving vandal or tomb raider,” Leliana countered.

“T’would be most unlikely.” Morrigan scoffed. 

“As is an escaped Elvhen fanatic who seeks to find an ancient device designed to bring down the veil and institute a mage ruling caste system,” Solas fervently reminded the two women, “The primary goal is to keep the Evanurius from locating the foci, informing Dr. Lavellan of her part seems essential to that quest.” 

“Alright,” Leliana assented. “Although I don’t think telling her the full truth of her power is wise. Perhaps we focus on her study of Elvhen artifacts. She’ll need a security detail, at least.” 

“That seems prudent,” Morrigan advised quietly, “Speaking of the patient, I should go and check on her vitals. I cannot tarry longer.” 

Solas nodded farewell to her as she exited. Sinking into the sofa. he rested his head on one of his hands, pulling out his cell phone to check his faculty email. _I forgot about Dagna._ He thought to himself remorsefully. 

“Solas, I am worried about Ellana,” Leliana confessed in a shaky voice he had rarely heard. She clutched a manilla file to her chest. 

“Yes, tell me again what about this situation, in particular, gives you concern,” Solas responded, sarcastically fidgeting with the plastic lid of his coffee cup. 

“I went through her University file, did you know she listed her thesis advisor as her emergency contact? I think it's been a long time since she has had anyone close in her life.”

“You understand privacy laws protect that information.” 

Leliana gave him a bold and unrelenting stare. “Who I am trying to protect is Dr. Lavellan. Knowing this information it is clear she has minimal support in Val Royeux.” 

“Well, did you contact her advisor?” 

“No, I thought that would lead to more questions. You know what else is interesting?"

"Hmm?"

"The first name on her chart is scratched out. The marks heavy and angry. Former lover?" 

“Do your agents know where Andriul went?” Solas asked dryly, shaking his head. He had very little patience left for the dark games of the Nightengale. 

“A few guesses. None of them good. I am skeptical that she’ll strike so openly again after being defeated. Do you remember when on a whim she hunted elves on the Arlathan streets? I still have nightmares about what we found. The years in prison have weakened her significantly.” 

“That explains the halla,” Solas observed grimly. “Andruil needed the ritual to fuel her magic.” 

“Blood magic?” Leliana asked curiously. “She is that frail?” 

“Magic?” Solas ruefully lamented, bringing a blue flame in his hand. “The power dwindles more year-to-year. In a lifetime, I doubt even the most powerful among us will be able to light a candle.” 

“So the Evanurius are desperate to find the foci as time is running out,” Leliana wondered out loud. She pulled the hood of her purple jacket up, sinking a bit against the chair cushions. "It is the only known way to tear down the veil?" 

“Correct,” Solas said, rising from his chair. Glancing down at his white shirt, he realized he was covered in a film of dry blood. He needed a shower and a nap. He wasn’t sure what order. Pausing at the door, he stopped in the exit before looking back at Leliana for a final time that evening. 

“Nightengale?” 

“Yes?” 

“Develop your preferred script for Dr. Lavellan. I will follow-it.” 

He slammed the door shut before he received an answer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this fic has led to so many exciting internet searches. I have no idea if this is how doctors speak to one another.


	13. The One Where Lavellen Wakes Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana meets Leiliana & is stubborn. Solas wear scrubs and is supportive.

**CHAPTER 13**

Ellana woke up in a room so bright that the glare of fluorescent bulbs momentarily blinded her. As her vision came into focus, she registered that a red-headed human dressed in an aubergine tracksuit was peering down at her. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together what was going on, calming when she made out the metal edges of a hospital bed and the paisley pattern of a patient gown. 

She was safe; the steady beeping of a heart monitor, a soundtrack celebrating her survival. 

"Ellana? My name is Leliana," The woman said in a muted voice. The kind one might use with a child or injured bird. "I work for Orlesian Homeland Security. You are in a hospital. Do you remember what happened?" 

All Ellana could manage in response was a raspy gasp. Gesturing to her dry throat, she was grateful when Leliana held a straw up to her lips. Taking a sip, Ellana felt the instant relief of fresh ice water. Whoever this Leilana was, she had a practiced bedside manner judging by how she held the plastic cup at precisely the right angle for Ellana to drink with ease. 

"Do you remember what happened, Ellana?" Leliana repeated in a lilting Orlesian accent. 

"I was attacked." Ellana stuttered, replaying the memory over again. Flashes of gold light, a hallway full of blood--and a face. A beautiful but menacing face of a woman who had, with a wave of her hand, cast a powerful spell with ease. _Magic?_ She reached up her hands to touch her chest where the blast had hit, the IV hooked into her veins inhibited her movements. Everything hurt. 

"It was a woman--an elf. A mage?"

"Yes," Leliana continued. "She is a leader of a group of Elven fanatics. Her name is Andruil. She read your book." Leliana said the pause between each short sentence focused and deliberate. "She is convinced you can help her locate religious artifacts." 

"What could I possibly offer them?" Ellana responded skeptically. "I'm not an archeologist. I don't excavate sites--" 

"My department is still figuring out the group's motivations. I don't know if her attack had much to do with you." 

"She called me out by name!" Ellana insisted angrily. 

"Yes, I understand," Leliana responded. "However, considering in Thedas you are the only elven scholar of Dalish artifacts, they probably assume you are a natural ally to their goals." 

"Then why would she attack me? Asking seems easier," Ellana felt an itch, the same she had when digging through archival sources or puzzling at a picture, knowing that if she persisted just enough whatever song the object had underneath its surface would reveal itself. 

As Ellana’s glare deepened, Leliana's expression remained neutral. Ellana thought there was some practice to how placid the woman looked. It wasn't natural, only becoming. 

Trying to concentrate, Ellana couldn't find the focus to analyze Leliana's motivations in detail. No doubt, glancing at the IV in her hand, she was pumped full of pain medication.

She was about to ask another question when she was interrupted by a raven-haired doctor wearing maroon scrubs saunter into the room introducing herself, "Hello, Dr. Lavellan. My name is Morrigan. I am your doctor.”

Ellana noticed that Leliana shuffled uncomfortably in her chair the moment that Morrigan started speaking. Turning to give her doctor her full attention, she was startled to find two amber-colored eyes, a shade she had never seen before, staring back at her.

"Twas very fortunate that Solas was there to stabilize your injuries on the way to the hospital." Morrigan began, "Otherwise, I do not think we'd be having a conversation right now, although judging from the wounds on your hand, you put up an admirable fight." 

"Professor Fen'Harel?" Ellana asked skeptically. 

"Yes, Solas arrived just in time to save you," Leliana interrupted. "He's been very concerned and hasn't left the hospital since your arrival." 

"What now?" Ellana asked ignoring their admiration for the neurologist. 

"You'll have a security detail," Leliana said. “Plainclothes officers. You won't notice many of them, but my agents will be stationed outside your apartment and classroom and follow you when you leave." 

"Is that necessary?" Ellana detested the idea of her independence curtailed in any way. The arrangement seemed intolerable. 

"Andruil is very dangerous." Leliana continued, "Really, we should be putting you witness protection. I suggested that but Solas--"

"You know him," Ellana said with a harsh realization. 

"Yes, he's a consultant for the Orlesian government." 

"Before we play more games," Morrigan cut off Leliana with an uncharitable scowl, "You have some severe cuts and bruising, along with a few fractured ribs. You'll need to rest. We'll need to start weaning you off the pain medication soon. It will interfere with the healing. I want to see you back here in a week for a follow-up." 

"Thank you," Ellana said earnestly. 

"This not me you need to thank, but Solas," the woman replied absently, picking up and making a few marks on her chart, before looking up with the same austere look. 

Ellana wasn't sure how to respond. She wasn't clear if the doctor was scolding her or simply disagreeable. 

"I should leave you," Leliana said with an efficacious nod, "I'll be in touch shortly. We can speak more about Andruil when you are feeling better." 

"I look forward to that conversation, Leliana," Ellana said with a warning which earned her a giggle from Morrigan. 

"You’re looking better than expected. I'll come back in a few hours to check on you again," the Morrigan called out as she too exited. "The button to call a nurse is on the nightstand. Don't hesitate to push it." 

Alone, Ellana thought to watch the news on the television hung on the wall above her bed, but before she could locate the remote, or summon a nurse to help, she was pulled back to sleep again.

\---

Ellana woke again sometime later in another room, one that resembled a bedroom rather than a hospital. Pale green curtains were closed over the windows next to her bed. Judging by the level of light coming through, it was night. Panic set into her chest when she realized she didn't know what day it was. Missing class would be a red mark in her file. 

She was surprised to see Solas sitting in a chair at the end of her bed, a newspaper draped over his chest. It appeared that he had just woken up. 

"Dr. Lavellan," he said groggily as he roused himself. He was sitting so close that she could see the light dusting of freckles on his pale skin, the cobalt blue scrubs, and surgical cap he wore, bringing out the deep color of his eyes in a becoming way that made her momentarily forget her hatred. 

She attempted to sit up and noted that she was no longer plugged into any medical devices or IVs. The freedom of movement galvanizing her alertness. 

"I am glad to see you awake, Dr. Lavellan. I understand that Leliana stopped by to explain the circumstances to you?" 

"Yes," she said before abruptly changing the subject, "What day is it?" 

Solas peered down at a watch on his wrist. Ellana had expected it to be an expensive one, given the tailored suits he wore around campus. Instead, it was a heavy-duty gadget made out of black plastic, the kind that she had seen on survivalist how-to shows and deep-sea diver advertisements. 

"It is Monday, just after three in the morning. Fortunately, there is one more day of vacation." 

Ellana leaned back on a stack of pillows, her breathing calming once she realized that she still had a few more hours to rally before returning to campus. 

"Surely, you aren't planning on teaching this week?" Solas observed, his voice barely managing to conceal his disapproval. 

"I don't know if I have a choice," Ellana said. She was too tired to keep her anger up. Also learning, that Professor Fen'Harel had rescued her made her feel more at ease with the strange man. Although she had spent little time with him, she realized with a small bit of shock, how kind he had been to wait with her in the hospital. 

"I spoke with Morrigan earlier, she and I are old friends--'

"Along with Leliana," Ellana observed dryly. 

"Yes, I have consulted with her on a few projects." 

"Because you are a spy," Ellana said sternly. "Dorian told me." 

"I was a consultant, but that was a long time ago." Solas chuckled as if the admission was a seemingly normal everyday thing. "Speaking of Dorian, I was wondering if you'd like me to call him so he could come pick you up when you are discharged." 

"I couldn't--impose on him and Bull. I will take a cab." 

"You shouldn't be alone considering the amount of pain medication you're on--I've known him and Bull for several years, and I'm positive they'd be more than happy to pick you up."

Ellana shook her head. She felt embarrassed about needing any form of assistance. A thing she wanted to say out loud, but her pride prevented her from doing so. 

"Is there anyone else that you can ask? Perhaps, I can drive you home--or Dagna if you prefer?" 

"No, thank you, Professor Fen'Harel, a cab, will be fine." 

"Are you always this stubborn?" Solas asked rhetorically. Ellana could tell she had worn away his patience, his usually aloof exterior melting away. "You were blasted in the chest by an Elvhen fanatic--one I happen to know from first-hand experience is extraordinarily dangerous." He paused before continuing, inhaling deeply and exhaling as if counting his breaths. "I don't mean to lecture you. I make the offer to help you while recognizing how capable you are. However, as a doctor, let me impress upon you that the fact that you are alive is remarkable. I have seen other, much more powerful mages than you die from similar injuries. All I am suggesting is that you accept a car ride from an anxious colleague who watched you narrowly escape death!" 

His expression was stern as if to dare Ellana to challenge him. She realized that in their previous encounters, that he had merely acquiesced to her stubbornness, something she had initially taken as submissive. Now, she realized that her hostility had not actually mollified him in any way. Underneath his politeness, he had a strength to him that Ellana found intriguing. 

"Barrier-spell," Ellana responded calmly. "All I did was cast a barrier spell at the right moment. The other mages that you spoke of probably tried something flashy." 

Solas chuckled, his face softening, clearly amused by her brazen retort. "Is that so?" 

It was a game. A new kind. 

"I have considered your recommendations, and perhaps I jumped too quickly to refuse your generous offer of a ride home." 

She hadn't expected those words to come out of her mouth. She didn't think she could take them back. 

"Excellent, let me go speak with Morrigan, we can start your paperwork to have you discharged. I can't imagine you want to stay in the hospital much longer." 

Before he could exit, Ellana sat up with a jolt. Turning to look back at her, he smiled when Ellana abruptly announced, "I'm sorry I need to use the restroom." 

"I'll call a nurse," Solas said with the practiced clinical voice of a doctor. 

"I can manage, only..." She gestured down to the thin hospital gown. She knew that it was mostly open in the bac and she wasn't wearing anything else. Although she had grown more comfortable with the neurologist--even starting to feel friendly towards him--the idea of him catching a glance of her naked bottom made her feel self-conscious. 

"Ah," Solas said with a wry smile. He stood up, grabbing a folded pink terry cloth robe from the top of the dresser opposite the bed. Walking over, he held it out to her, one sleeve at a time, until it was snuggly around her shoulders. Ellana noted how skillful he was at guiding her into the cover-up without making any contact with her body, his eyes averted as she tugged the garment around herself. Tying the belt around her, she inched out of bed, stifling a few groans as her muscles rebelled against standing. 

Solas paced a few steps behind her, ready to catch her if she wobbled, but she made it to the small bathroom towards the entrance, noting the sound of his footsteps exiting her room, hoovering a few steps out of the doorway to give her more privacy. 

Washing her hands, Ellana found herself facing a mirror for the first time since entering the hospital, she was startled to see her mangled face reflected back at her, the side where she had fallen, bruised almost behind recognition in a marbled pattern of purple and red. Her lip was split, and cuts went deep into her cheeks. It looked as if there had been a few attempts to suture the deeper wounds with tape, but overall she felt that she looked like a bed of hot lava.

Exiting the restroom. Ellana sink into the chair Solas had been sitting in moments ago. A sense of despair overwhelmed, however, seeing her injuries, transformed the horrible dreams of the last few hours into a lasting concrete reality. Despite her resilience, Ellana found herself crying. She couldn't teach like this. 

Hearing her gulping sobs, Solas rushed in, squatting in front of her. Between the slats of her fingers, Ellana could see him reach his hand up to touch her arm before pulling it back with a jolt. 

“Dr. Lavellan, are you alright--should I get Morrigan?" He asked, the worry seeping into his usually calm cadence. She could tell by his hesitation that he wanted to be the one to fix whatever was wrong, despite not knowing how she came to that conclusion. 

"No," she shook her head, her voice wavering as she got the words out. "I'm sorry, it's my face." 

"Dr. Lavellan, I assure you, your injuries will heal…" Solas' voice trailed off. His expression perplexed. 

"I'm sorry. You must think me terribly vain," Ellana whispered defensively, before choking on another sob. "Just, I can already hear Roderick Asignon gossiping in the art history office about the savage Dalish professor, getting into a bar fight, or whatever other malicious gossip he can dream up." 

"Are your colleagues that cruel?" Solas said softly, clearly shaken. 

"Do you not believe me?" She demanded, her tears giving way to fury, "Surely, as an elven professor, you too receive any number of side-comments, or worse the shocked ones when you complete a project with any competence." 

"Yes, but I'm not…" 

"Dalish." She finished for him dryly, a frown twisting her lips. "The regular elves are fine. After all, they know their place." 

"I apologize, Dr. Lavellan. Truly, even if I am an elf, I had--have--little idea what it is like to experience such hateful words." 

Ellana slunk into the chair, pulling her arms tightly around herself.

"If you like, I know a spell to heal the bruising." 

"You would do that?” She said, shocked, observing the blue waves of mana that were already germinating from his fingertips. As a mage, Ellana knew that Solas' gesture was a generous one; her injuries were significant enough that the power needed to heal them would result in fatigue. 

It was one thing to offer her a ride home, another completely to give her part of himself. 

Solas nodded with a smile reaching up towards her face, his fingers hovering right above the surface of her skin, moving from her forehead to her chin. The glimmer of magic prickled her nerves at first but then soothed the ache. When he finished, she was surprised to feel him tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, she liked the sensation of his touch and found it erotic. The way the tips of his fingers brushed against her skin electrified with the aftermath of mana. No one had ever touched her in such away. 

" _Ma serannas, hahren,"_ Ellana said softly. Judging by Solas' wild grin, her words of respect had pleased him. Touching her face, she could feel her skin even and unbroken, the pain gone. 

"I might suggest you try and sleep as I track down your paperwork, _lethallan_." Solas countered gently, their eye contact not wavering. The silence had been tense between them when she first woke up. Now it had changed shape, it was pleasant. Ellana wanted to linger in it a little longer. 

"Yes," she said taking the arm he offered without protest. Ellana argued to herself she was too tired to do so otherwise, and that allowing him to lead her back into bed, and pull the covers up over her as she slid in, was the sort of thing that invested doctors did for all their patients.

Still, Ellana couldn't help but wonder about the man staring back at her. It made sense that he had treated her injuries on the way over in the ambulance. It would have been immoral for him not to as a doctor. Keeping vigil for hours in the hospital, sitting next to her bedside, and waiting to take her home was different. Ellana couldn't figure out what had motivated him to do so, even if part of her came to the obvious conclusion that he might care. A prospect that elated her as much as annoyed her. 

"I will stay for a while longer, if that is OK with you Dr. Lavellan.”

"Professor Fen'Harel," Ellana interrupted him imperiously as if issuing an official edict.

"Yes?" 

"You should call me Ellana. After all, we are colleagues." 

"Thank you, Ellana. Please, call me Solas." 

Ellana didn't reply as she had already drifted back to sleep.   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had admittedly always found the removal of the vallaslin strange, and have gone back and forth about it. It works for the game, but considering this is a modern au I thought it be especially weird. Still, I thought it be nice to have a homage to that scene here.
> 
> As I write it’s been interesting to develop less secretive Solas. I like to think this is how he would be, distant and cerebral, but also w a lot of compassion for others.


	14. The One Where Lavellen is Willfully Difficult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas drives Ellana home.

**CHAPTER 14**

Solas entered his lavish apartment located in the city center of Val Royeaux.

After throwing his backpack on the floor, he dropped his keys in a ceramic dish on the kitchen counter with a clang. Ignoring a week’s worth of mail spread out for his review, he opened the fridge, grabbing a can of lemon-flavored sparkling water. He didn’t have to think much about his well-stocked kitchen. A staff came to replenish supplies throughout the week and put things in order, scrubbing every surface to a sparkling finish. 

He didn't think much of the space, having been granted it by the Inquisition based on their security recommendations. Truthfully, it was an excessive amount of space for one person, with two floors, four bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths, in a city where a studio apartment was a king’s ransom. It was not the penthouse, but the view from the high floor was striking. Large windows on the exterior walls overlooked the Val Royeaux harbor and a field of nearby skyscrapers. In summer, the seascape was a radiant azure. Now, in autumn, the scenery was gray and stormy. He preferred the latter. 

Solas sat at his dining room table, popping open the can of seltzer and taking a deep chug. The emptiness of his home had not bothered him much before. After all, he preferred being alone. The silence at his homecoming that evening troubled him. 

On occasion, when he did go out with his colleagues for a glass of wine or attended a conference, such close socializing left him emotionally exhausted. There had been times where he had tried dating. Some women had caught his attention longer than others, but in the end, they were too loud, too stupid, or simply made him feel uncomfortable. On a rare occasion, he’d agree to be set-up with someone, only to arrive and spend the next hour making forced small talk. Those failed attempts pushed him further towards solitude. 

He hadn’t reflected on his life in much detail for a while and was startled to find himself alert of its boundaries as if for the first time. 

The more time he could dedicate to work, the better. Every student he could support each successful diagnosis made up for his earlier complacency with the Evanurius. He had turned down awards for his research and lucrative publishing deals. He had given away to charity as much of Mythal’s estate as he could manage. He had even refused a salary from the University, using his trust to live. It was enough to dedicate himself to small acts that made up for the tainted resources he had received as a young man. 

Resources he still benefited from. 

The drive from the hospital to Ellana’s apartment had awoken a new feeling in him. It was startling.

One day he had been content, the next day, the whole world changed.

Ellana was vibrant. Underneath the prim suits and polite persona she cultivated as a professor, there was a complicated, spirited woman. He laughed to himself, remembering how, earlier that morning, upon discovering that she did not have fresh clothes to go home in, she boldly proclaimed to him that he would have to take her home in the nude as inevitably that would be preferable to the drab paisley of the hospital gown. He suspected that the pain medication filtering out of her system had contributed to her brazen attitude as it erupted out of her well-practiced, but quiet. 

They had compromised, and he had presented her with a pair of his extra scrubs from his locker to save the time it would take for himself, or more likely Dagna, to go to her apartment and retrieve any of her belongings. When she exited her hospital room, he was surprised to see that her petite frame was not swimming in his oversized garb. She had expertly tied and tucked the robes into a fitted classic, almost avant-garde outfit, that, when paired with a set of cat-eye sunglasses salvaged from her purse, made her resemble a celebrity in loungewear trekking through the airport. 

Before they left, Leiliana had returned to go through the security protocol with the art historian. Ellana was skeptical, pointing out every discrepancy in the cover-up story. Although Solas knew the spymistress omitted facts mostly to protect the art historian, his respect for Ellana’s intelligence grew, watching her make quick work of testing Leilana, forcing the spymistress to adjust her tangled web of conspiracies and intrigue as the conversation evolved. 

“Yes, but what about the halla?” Ellana asked Leiliana with a glare. “You are telling me you don’t find it strange that this Andruil managed to smuggle three halla into a secure building, sacrifice them one-by-one with no one noticing, and disappear without a trace?” 

“We are doing our best to understand her motivations.” 

“Yes, but you told me minutes ago that she is an escaped prisoner. Surely, you must have some understanding of what triggered her attack. Also, you are avoiding answering my question about the halla.” 

“Blood magic,” Leilana admitted. 

Solas noted that the scholar flinched, hearing those words. Although mostly based on superstition, blood magic was avoided by many mages, even as their mutual relationship to the Fade weakened, given the cost. It took a particular type of ruthlessness to perform the necessary rituals. However, it was powerful and allowed for spells not available to most regular castors, such as the ability to bend another’s will to their own. 

“She could have taken over my mind, forced me to do any number of things, or even killed someone." 

“Correct,” Leliana acknowledged somberly. The young woman had stayed silent then, listening with rapt attention to the subsequent elite security protocols that had been put in place with as much minimal disruption to her life as possible. In the end, Leliana handed Ellana a pager that, if activated with a push of a button, would summon security forces to the vicinity in a matter of seconds. 

Ellana had stared it at as if it were toxic, tracing her fingers over the edges of the small box-shaped device. 

Solas noticed that after the conversation, Ellana appeared downcast, her expression flat and aloof. As they processed her discharge paperwork, she gave him short answers, staying near silent as he helped her into his car and drove her home. He was relieved when she turned to him with a playful grin to ask him if he “... took pleasure in the radio station,” that he had thoughtlessly selected, a melody of smooth jazz, the type of which Ellana assessed, “...aged one instantly ancient upon genuine enjoyment.” 

He had learned in the short amount of time he had known her that it was prudent to wait for Ellana to try something once herself before volunteering assistance. If she struggled, she would relent, but otherwise view any aid as unnecessary--even condescending.

When he found a parking spot in front of her apartment building, he watched as Ellana struggled to unbuckle the seatbelt and open the car door. Looking at him furtively, she was about to speak before shaking her head and attempting it again. 

“Were you going to ask me to help you to your apartment?” Solas asked carefully.

She nodded. Her face was reddening out of embarrassment. He guessed at needing to ask for additional help. Solas had walked around the car, carefully pulling her out of the low passenger seat. The feeling of her arms around his neck made his head pound. He was startled at how much he liked caring for her, how powerful it made him feel. Not in a dominant way, but in the way that made him feel as if he had much to give. 

The walk up the short flights of stairs had taken a significant amount of time, simply because he had recognized her wordless requirement to do as much of the work as she could manage, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on each step. When they had reached her door, she had sunk to the floor in exhaustion and rummaged through her salvaged purse for her keys, a dark smear of blood staining the outside material. 

“I’m so glad that the paramedics thought to grab my things. I’m afraid the catalog you gave me--” 

“I have it,” Solas offered wanting to quell any further worry. “Dagna is already planning to messenger you a clean one.” 

He supported her balance as she stood to unlock her apartment. When Ellana opened the door, she looked back at him with approval to see him hoovering, waiting for an invitation to enter. With a loud sigh, she sunk onto her bed, studying his face again. For a moment, Solas steeled himself for a dismissal, only to hear her call to him in a weary voice, “I think I need to ask for a bit more of your time, Solas. I’m sorry.” 

“Please don’t apologize. I’m happy to help,” he responded, watching Ellana curl up on her bed, drawing her knees up towards her chest. Her face was lined with exhaustion, her tan skin ashen. The first time he had met her, he had thought her white-blonde hair the product of dye, it was pale and ghostly. Now, however, he realized that it was her natural color. He wasn't sure why the realization gave him an urge to stroke the sweaty hair out of her forehead. Ellana was fighting, he could see, to overcome her body. It would have been a privilege to soothe her. 

Swallowing nervously, he pulled out the chair at her desk and sat down to survey Ellana’s cohesively decorated apartment. The duvet cover on her bed, a deep teal with subtle white embroidery, complimented a rug of a mottled blend of untamed pinks and blues. Everything from the knick-knacks on her desk to the dishes on the open shelf in her kitchen was considered and artful; even the books on her large shelf were arranged first by color and then size.

“You are very organized,” Solas observed, taking off his coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. 

Ellana laughed, a slight look of pain flashing on her face as her chest shook, “Secretly, I’m an absent-minded professor type--I’ve just grown disciplined to keep everything as straightforward as possible, so it doesn’t get out of hand.” 

“I know what you mean,” Solas responded, standing up to examine a print on the wall over her desk. It was a long-exposure photograph of the moon passing over a dark lake, the effect provoking him with a sense of wonder as he made out how the blurred edges of the orb bled into one another as if to memorialize the inevitable trail of its passage throughout the night. 

“My friend, Fenris, he’s an artist, gave that to me before I moved out of Minrathous,” Ellana interrupted. “It’s not one of his more complex works, conceptually, but I rather love it. It reminds me of a poem I read once about walking through a graveyard on your birthday, and that particular melancholic feel of celebrating the anniversary amongst the dead.” 

“That’s a rather specific type of humor. I rather like it.” 

Ellana chuckled self-consciously, stopping with a jolt, as if she suddenly realized she was growing too comfortable in her openness. “I digress. I need some help before I can be on my own.” 

“Absolutely, what can I do?” Solas was heedful to keep his voice light and casual. He wanted to demonstrate his goodwill towards the young woman. 

She sat up then. “I don’t know if I can manage dinner. Also, I need to set-up the apartment so that I can manage on my own for the rest of the week.” 

“So, you are going to listen to reason and refrain from teaching for the week.” He made sure to make his words firm. Although they were growing friendly, Solas knew he didn't have the standing to cajole Ellana into any conclusion her willpower didn't take her first. 

“I don’t have classes Tuesday, at least. I can make it to work on Wednesday if I rest tomorrow after rescheduling office hours.” 

“Dagna--”

“If you say Dagna can drive me back and forth to campus, I will have an aneurysm.” 

“Alright,” Solas relented, softening when he saw Ellana's teasing grin. He knew he was not in a position to negotiate any further. He bit back a joke about being a neurologist, how he treated aneurysms, had even published on best practices for mages, on a regular occasion. 

Ellana stood then, slowly making her way to the dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a few fistfuls of fabric before wobbling over to the bathroom. 

Pausing at the threshold, Ellana looked back at Solas with a grimace, “I can wait until after you leave to shower. Although, creators know, I need one.” 

“Shower, and I’ll make dinner," Solas said gently. "As a medical professional, I want to remind you that you are still under the influence of narcotics. You _really_ shouldn't be alone in the event you lose your balance and slip." 

“That seems sensible,” she admitted sharply in a way that quelled any eroticism about the idea of her nakedness, however, abstract. Through the bathroom door, Solas could make out the muffled sounds of the shower curtain sliding open and then the rush of water.

Opening the refrigerator, He found several carefully arranged glass storage containers with fitted lids filled with pre-cut vegetables and what looked like chunks of tofu. Taking out two of the meals, he found a wok out of the dishrack and prepared dinner. It was a simple task, and he couldn’t repress the thought that perhaps Ellana had asked him to help her not because she needed it but because she didn’t want him to leave. More likely, so she didn’t have to be alone. 

He couldn't shake the idea that the entire day so far had been a test of sorts. A way for her to study him as if he were an artifact, or something concrete and tangible. 

As he spooned the dinner into two bowls, Ellana came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and an oversized Minrathous Institute of Technology sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. When she turned to pull her hair up into a messy bun at the top of her head, Solas saw a gold dragon, the University’s famous logo, embroidered on the back. 

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the bowl that Solas handed her after hanging the towel up on a hook in the bathroom. She sat in silence, cross-legged on her bed, occasionally glancing up at Solas with large hazel eyes, as he sat opposite from her on her desk chair. He noted with some distress that Ellana only picked at her food, mostly eating the fried tofu ignoring the vegetables. 

“Not hungry?” he asked her when she set the bowl down. 

“I want to be hungry,” she replied sadly. "I think I can eat later." 

Before Solas could stop himself, he placed his hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. Ellana stiffened at his touch before she registered what he was doing, relaxing when he announced in a clinical voice, “You’re cool to the touch. If you start to run a fever, you need to call Morrigan right away; it’s a sign of infection.” 

“I should probably go to bed,” Ellana said, nodding, turning on her side away from him. 

“That is a good idea. Did you need anything else?” 

“It’s a bit silly, but if you could unplug my laptop charger from underneath my desk and plug it into the outlet next to the bed. I wound the wire up the desk leg. I don’t think I can manage to move the desk myself.”

“Nor should you.” Solas reminded her, walking over to the desk, flattening himself on the ground to untangle the cords. It took him a few minutes, but he brought the charger over to Ellana, who pointed to a spot of wall behind her bed. Kneeling again, Solas plugged the charger in, tucking the wires up through the headboard so Ellana would not lose it as she worked from her bed. 

When he finished, he saw her stare at him with a strange expression on her face, somewhere between appreciation and apprehension. 

“Solas,” she said with a nervous tilt to her voice, “I don’t know how to thank you for all your help. I judged you unfairly. You’ve been so kind to me.” 

“Ellana--” he said. “I apologize again for the hurt I caused you…” 

“I’d be lying to say I wasn’t still angry about the book review. Only.." her voice trailed off, and for a moment, Solas saw her eyes tracing the line of his jaw before swiftly averting her gaze again. “I look forward to working with you on this exhibition.” 

“Are you sure you’ll be OK on your own?” 

He bit back an invitation to stay with him. 

“I always am.” 

“Do you have the pager that---”

“Yes, _hahren,”_ Ellana teased dryly. “What I need is to sleep.” 

Solas paused, taking out his wallet and a pen from the tweed blazer's breast pocket he was wearing rather inelegantly over his scrubs. Pulling out a business card from one of its pockets, he used the surface of the wallet to write out two phone numbers on its back: one labeled “Dagna” and the other “Solas,” before handing the card back to Ellana. 

“Don’t hesitate to call either one of us. I know I volunteer Dagna an awful lot--but she’s paid _rather_ exorbitantly--and is always harassing me that I don’t give her enough work. So don’t hesitate to ask her for anything. I have a full rotation of patients throughout the week, so I don’t always have the availability to respond in a timely fashion.” 

She had thanked him again, her voice drowsy. Standing, with a soft nod, he made his way to the doorway, insisting that she lock the deadbolt behind him.

Solas was relieved when on the way to his car, he spotted a brawny, bearded man leaning against a street lamp, smoking a cigarette with what appeared like a bottle of beer wrapped in a brown paper sack in his hand. 

His training had taught him not to even wink at the bearded man. Such an act would blow the spy's cover. However, the knowledge that Leiliana had dedicated one of her best agents to protect the art historian made it easier for him to get in his car and drive away to his home. He took the long way home, driving up along the coastline, circling a few of the Val Royeux parks to gather his thoughts.

Solas crushed the seltzer can before throwing it in the recycling bin. Solas grasped, if not fully for the first time, how much he wished that he had been able to ask Ellana to dinner all those months ago. Would she be here with him now, lounging on the sofa preparing lesson plans? Or would they be drinking a glass of red wine together, looking out at the city view? Creators knew he had plenty of bottles to share.

 _No,_ he stopped himself before crawling up the stairs to his bedroom. _Those are the dreams of another man._

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Poor Solas.
> 
> +Also spoilers WHAT IF THE PLOT TWIST IS THAT BLACKWALL IS A GREY WARDEN.
> 
> \+ Lavellan is a Marie Kondo convert.


	15. The One Where Lavellen Becomes Dorian's Nug Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian plots revenge. Solas and Ellana text.

**CHAPTER 15**

“Spin around for me one more time,” Dorian demanded, twirling his finger in a circle. 

He was lounging on an overstuffed sofa in a garish fitting room as if it were a throne, considering the twentieth outfit he had required Ellana to try on that morning.

“Dorian!” Ellana groaned. The hot pink jumpsuit she was wearing was covered in random patches of sequins that reminded her of cancerous tumors. It was not a good look, baggy in all the wrong places. 

Jumping down from the platform the store had positioned in between an accordion of fitting room mirrors, she sat down with a huff next to her friend.

It wasn’t the type of place she usually shopped, the racks filled with garish clubwear. She had indulged Dorian as he had seen promise in the eccentric storefront display of glitter and cut-outs. Her resolve, however, was running out as the dubstep beats playing in the background were giving her a headache. 

She was doing her best to be patient. After all, this was finally the year Dorian Pavus would win the top prize of the UofO annual Hallow’s Eve costume contest. 

“I’m sorry that Bull’s costume won’t fit you. It’s a bummer he’s out of town with the Chargers for the evening.” 

“I’m glad I can serve as an adequate replacement,” Ellana responded, not all together insincerely. “Please explain to me again, however, how a sexy Hurlock and its pet nug are the winning look?” 

As annoyed as she was at playing dress-up, she loved conversations like this with Dorian. The two shared an intense synergy, as if constantly in cohots. It had been a long time since she had this much fun with another friend. 

“You can’t go for the obvious choices,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Last year first place went to Zevran who dressed up as a hot Chantry Sister. It was so lame.” 

“If I understand correctly, he embroidered a set of elaborate robes, going so far as to fashion the headpiece from hand-woven swatches he made over several months.” 

“Semantics,” Dorian protested. 

“I think the romper I bought at the last store conveys more--how do I say— ineffable qualities of nugness."

Ellana resisted pointing out that the already purchased outfit was the right nondescript pastel pink shade, whereas all the ones she had tried on recently were more in the salmon range. The specificity, she thought important. 

Dorian’s brow furrowed deep in thought. It looked more, or so Ellana thought, that the man was contemplating a life or death decision rather than debating the minutiae of a costume contest. 

“I think you are right,” His response was less decisively than Ellana would have liked. 

"Dorian, I have tried on every pink jumpsuit on this block," She insisted, heading to the changing room. 

Ellana couldn't wait to put her own black clothes on after feeling like a roasted cupcake for most of the morning. 

“I might be a _little_ overzealous about this contest,” Dorian admitted to her with a languid sigh. 

“I think we have a good plan,” She offered supportively from behind the changing room curtain. 

Handing the pile of discarded jumpsuits to the store attendant, and exiting the cobblestone streets of the Val Royeaux shopping district, Ellana realized that it was her first outing somewhere other than campus or the doctor for the past few weeks. 

Truthfully, Ellana hadn’t fully healed, Many nights ended with her placing a bag of frozen peas or carrots on her fractured ribs to alleviate the ache. The excursion had caught up to her, and she had to stop to catch her breath and lean up against one of the old blue stucco walls of a patisserie. Shopping had exhausted her. 

“You are doing great," Dorian paused with concern."Did we push too far?” 

Ellana didn’t know what she would have done without Dorian and Bull over the last few weeks following the assault. After a dismal attempt at public transport, she had called Dorian to ask if he could give her a ride back and forth to campus, surprised when to find him on the other side her apartment door, twenty-minutes later, demanding a full explanation of what happened. 

Although they didn't know each other as well then, Ellana was appreciative that he understood her enough to know when she was refusing to ask for help. It was a bad habit, one she worked hard on getting over, but still one that resurged whenever something bad was happening. 

Not only had Dorian and Bull shepherded her around town (along with a chatty Josephine), but they also dropped off homemade casseroles, and insisted that she spend several nights in their guest room. “ _Easier for our morning commute,”_ Dorian had said, a trick, no doubt to make her accept. 

Dressing up as a nug seemed like a fair but inadequate way to show her thanks. 

“I was fine up until a few minutes ago." She sighed, frustrated at her diminished energy. "I should be fine after a break." 

“Do you still want to go to the craft store? It’s in the suburbs, and the drive is a little over an hour. Would that be enough time to rest?” 

“I think so.” She admitted. " I don’t mean to put a stop to the fun." 

“Oh please!” Dorian waved his hand and pointed down an alley, “Let’s turn here and I’ll pull the car around." 

The two quickly identified a spot for Ellana to wait. With a few minutes to spare, she pulled out her phone, excited to see a new message from Solas responding to a picture she had sent him of Dorian intently holding up a photograph of a nug to compare it to a swath of pink material. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 11:30 a.m.** **  
** **  
** I thought Dorian was a nug last year? 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 1:30 p.m.**

Snoufleur. The ambiguity might have been the problem. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 1:32 p.m.**

Ah, My mistake. I wouldn’t want to misunderstand his genius. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 1:35 p.m**

The important thing here is that he will win 1st after taking 2nd 5 years in a row. A fate worst than losing

**xxx-xxx-3245, 1:36 p.m**

Or so he tells me. ;) 

Ellana skimmed through their text messages over the past few weeks. The first few had been strictly business regarding the exhibition—mixed in with clinically phrased questions from Solas about her rib fractures and bruising. The more she and Solas exchanged messages, the more she found herself wondering if she actually liked the neurologist. He was considerate, and underneath his detached persona, witty.

It was unfortunate that Ellana hadn’t been able to see him since he had driven her home from the hospital. At first, she had been focused on recovering, but the longer their text conversations went on, the more she realized that she was looking forward to seeing Solas again. Wanted to, even, in a way that bordered desire.   
  
In fact, they should have been meeting right now for their exhibition. Only a week ago, Solas had emailed her that he was traveling out of town for a medical conference. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Dorian pulled up the car, rolling down the passenger window, and yelled out to her, “Your chariot awaits.” 

Ellana walked as fast as she could manage, and got in, feeling a slight strain when she pulled herself into the large vehicle. Buckling her seat belt, she laughed when Dorian put the car in gear. The two bantered a bit before turning up the radio when Dorian pulled onto the highway. Taking out her phone, Ellana resumed texting Solas.

**xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 1:42 p.m.**

I’m sorry I am too old for emojis. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 1:49 p.m.**

Or so my assistant tells me when I send her the wrong one 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 2:00 p.m.**

Such a hahren. Give Dagna a raise! 

“I know that smile.” Dorian declared, spotting Ellana’s grin. “Is it--let me guess who we are texting? Maybe Solas?” 

Ellana felt herself grow hot, a deep blush covering her face. She wanted to deny that was what was going on. Only all words failed her. 

“It is!” He cried, like her, Dorian loved being right. “You’ve been texting him non-stop all week.” 

“About work,” Ellana insisted unconvincingly. “We are planning an exhibition.” 

“I knew the two of you would hit it off,” Dorian observed when they pulled into the craft store parking lot.

“So you were trying to set us up at the exhibition.” She accused him. “Is it because--”

“No, it is not because you are both elves! You have the same--” He paused, searching for the precise word, “Intensity? You are both intense people.” 

“Says the man wearing gold pants.” 

“I concede that point,” Dorian responded, throwing his sunglasses on the top of his head and unbuckling his seatbelt before they made their way towards the aisles of plastic flowers and miscellaneous crafting supplies, “Solas better ask you to dinner soon so you can get some of that elven glory, or I am truly concerned you will go insane. You have it bad.” 

“Dorian!” Ellana admonished him despite the fact that he was correct. “Solas and I are colleagues!” 

“Uhuh. Come on, my little nug princess. You need some ears for the Ball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I want to say the emphasis here for the shopping trip is the costume contest. I don’t see these two as endless shoppers (even if I think they bond over having a flair for clothes).


	16. The One Where Solas Attends a Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas goes on a secret mission. Ellana and him text. He is distracted.

**Chapter 16**

Solas grew more contrarian as the annual gathering of the Association of Mage & Medical Professionals (AMMP) went on. Initially, he had been asked to be the keynote speaker several months prior, but he had turned down the invitation. He hated conferences, finding the whole process of presenting his research tedious. The panel discussions were rarely compelling, as his colleagues generally appeared more concerned with grandstanding than any genuine quest for knowledge. 

_When did I become so jaded?_ He wondered to himself as he headed back to his hotel room, scanning the keycard and flopping down on the bed. 

As with most conferences he attended, all any mage wished to discuss were methods to preserve their declining strength. Solas was equally concerned with the dilemma, but after witnessing first-hand the destruction of such a desire, he wasn’t keen to attempt any of the desperate measures to try and rectify the situation. Over the last few days, he had been asked about what he thought might be done, given that his research addressed how the brain transmitted and responded to the Fade, but all his answers were holistic. 

A hard truth for professionals driven by data and statistics. 

He had stopped trying to explain that understanding the relationship the brain had to the Fade was more heuristic than clinical.

It wasn’t, despite the skepticism of his peers, that magic had specific neural correlates. He was certain that procedures--such as one he had seen proposed that morning to optimize the sympathetic nervous system with a permanent lyrium shunt--would improve the connection. After years of study, he suspected that the Fade suffused the brain and that individual brains adopted over time. Patterns emerged, yes, but that framework explained to him why the pathologies of mage-driven illnesses or complications were never the same. 

It was a dialogic response between the brain and the Fade. Both were necessary and changed over time. 

His ability to look at each case individually and innovate solutions made him the go-to doctor for unsolvable cases. However, it earned him very little warmth from other professionals working in the medical field.

Solas understood that he often had a reputation as a distant and sometimes caustic medical professional, more obsessed with “philosophy than science.” 

He had great compassion towards his patients, even if his bedside manner was a little cerebral. It was the other doctors that he was short with; those unable to balance the abstract and the concrete. 

He stared up at the ceiling, looking at the film of dust that had collected on the ceiling fan. A mournful landscape reminiscent of how dislocated he felt from his current reality. 

It had been a miserable four days. 

Leliana had forced him to go last-minute. Sipping on a glass of red wine at his dining room table, she had visited to give him an in-person briefing and ask that he might attend: “It would be ideal for you to meet with a Tevinter magister, Gereon Alexius.” 

“What is this one guilty of?” He had asked with a groan. 

“It appears he has figured out how to use magic, at least theoretically, to turn back time.” 

“To locate the orb?”

“Or whatever the highest bidder might want.” 

“So, you are asking me to…”

“Befriend him and see what happens.” 

And so he had. 

Solas had attended the magister’s panel discussion on the theoretical mapping of magic as a physical body. He had lingered to ask how Alexis’ research might inform the use of an MRI machine on a mage (an answer he had already studied). The man had been so flattered that the preeminent Professor Solas Fen’Harel wanted to learn more about his experiments that he had instantly asked to make plans to get drinks and compare research notes that very evening.

“This is why we still need you to be a part of the Inquisition,” Leliana had told him over the phone when he called to update her. Solas was not convinced he had much left to offer. He agreed his participation was impactful, but his thoughts were in Val Royeaux. Over the last few weeks, he and Ellana had struck up a text conversation that occupied most of his attention.

Her initial message a few days after the attack had taken him by surprise.

 **xxx-xxx-3245, 7:00 p.m.** **  
**

Thank you again for yesterday, Professor.

**xxx-xxx-3245, 7:01 p.m.**

This is Ellana Lavellan 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:11 p.m.**

No thanks are necessary.--S

Solas couldn’t help sending a follow-up message an hour later. The act had made him nervous, as he lacked any fluency in the medium. Ellana was at least a decade younger, and the lack of eloquence he was able to convey in the text must have been glaring to her. Still he couldn't repress his desire to offer even more aid. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 8:15 p.m.**

Do you need anything, _lethallan_?--S

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 8:27 p.m.**

No, I’m staying with Dorian & Bull for a few days. 

Solas suspected that the couple had to coerce her into such an arrangement, given how stubborn Ellana reacted _well_ to everything. Nor would he remind her that he had suggested such an arrangement—several times. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 8:27 p.m.**

I didn’t want you to think your good work was undone 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 8:35 p.m.**

Thank you, that was considerate.--S

He had forced himself not to overthink the exchange. The messages Ellana sent him were a mere courtesy. At the very most, a gesture of friendship. 

The following week, Solas showed up to his office and discovered a box wrapped in heavy emerald paper and a black ribbon placed in his desk's center. Picking up the package, he picked up the attached card, his full name written in a beautiful script in a perfectly straight line. Curiously, he opened the envelope finding a brief note, written in a similar polished hand, that read: 

_Solas,_ _  
__Words cannot express my gratitude. Dagna said these were your favorite._ _  
__Warmly,_ _  
__Ellana_

Unwrapping the package, he found a dozen elaborately decorated cupcakes, with what Orlesians called “frilly” buttercream icing, made to resemble peonies or some other type of flower. Solas had snapped a picture of his graduate students in lab coats awkwardly sharing the contents and sent it to Ellana. A few hours later, he had chuckled at her response 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 7:28 p.m  
  
** I’m glad you enjoyed them. Thank you again. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 7:30 p.m.** **  
**

p.s. I can tell you took the photo yourself since it is blurry.

Solas had thought better of responding but couldn’t resist what he thought was an opportunity to build more goodwill between the two of them. That, and he found he rather enjoyed what he was interpreting as her teasing. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:45 p.m.  
  
** You underestimate me. Clearly. --S

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 7:48 p.m.  
  
** & yet you sign all your text messages? 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan., 7:50 p.m.  
  
** How ancient are you? 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:45 p.m., 7:52 p.m.  
  
** I am 41

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan., 7:58 p.m.** **  
****  
** That was a rhetorical question 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:45 p.m., 8:01 p.m.** **  
****  
** Well, now, you have an answer. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 8:08 p.m.** **  
**

& now you know better than to sign your texts. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 8:10 p.m.** **  
**

Trust me. It will impress your grad students. 

Solas wanted to flirt. He had come up with several phrases that would have positioned him. Only he restrained himself. Especially as he had just admitted his age. No doubt, she had instantly calculated the years of their age difference upon learning the number. He expected it was a decade or more. Still, the conversation persisted. He was surprised at how easy it was and how willingly Ellana was engaged in it. It had taken on a slightly jocular tone, one where Ellana chided him for being pedantic, and one where he let her do so. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 10:00 a.m.** **  
**

I’ve put together the agenda for our next meeting

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 10:04 a.m.** **  
**

We’ll need to talk about medical imagery.

 **xxx-xxx-3454, 9:00 p.m.  
**  
Sorry to miss this, I was with patients all day. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 9:10 p.m.**

I’ll send the list to Dagna as undoubtedly she oversees your side hustles

**xxx-xxx-3454, 9:15 p.m.**

Can you clarify what you mean by “side hustle.” 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 9:20 p.m.** **  
**

Goodness!

On another day, Solas had initiated the messaging. Sometimes finding an excuse to send her a text. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 8:00 p.m.**

Did you need me to make arrangements to tour the lab? 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 8:01 p.m  
**

I’ll be at the hospital most of the week, but students would be happy to 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 9:20 p.m.** **  
**

Yes, thank you.

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 9:25 p.m.** **  
**

Please also remind me to send flowers to my thesis advisor

 **xxx-xxx-3454, 9:28 p.m.** **  
**

If you like. Why?

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 9:31 p.m.** **  
**

Her abuse of my labor was much more tolerable ;)

 **xxx-xxx-3454, 9:35 p.m.** **  
**

Pish posh.

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 9:39 p.m.** **  
**

Piss pot? You are so old.

Gradually, the banter grew more friendly. He was surprised when he opened his phone a few mornings later to an image of Ellana’s manicured hand holding a frothy latte in one of the University gardens. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 7:30 a.m.**

I owe you a coffee if I recall correctly. R u @ campus? 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:35 a.m.**

I am waiting to board a plane, check your email. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 7:45 a.m.  
** **  
**:(! Oh well.

Although their banter had grown more familiar and friendly, something about the distance between the two of them made the conversation reach a frenetic pace. For the entire week of the conference, Solas was guaranteed a response whenever he pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 2:00 p.m.** **  
**

Did you land safely, Professor?  
  
 **xxx-xxx-3454, 5:00 p.m.**

Now, who is the hahren? 

\---

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:00 p.m.**

How are the bruises? Did Morrigan have any updates? 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 8:00 p.m.** **  
**

omg, I'm fine...

\--

 **xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 1:00 p.m.** **  
**

Is it too early to drink? 

**Xxx-xxx-3454, 2:45 p.m.**

That bad? 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 3:00 p.m.** **  
****  
** So many no shows for office hours!

Solas scrolled through the texts they had shared throughout that Saturday. Stopping at a recent picture, Ellana had sent him in a crafting aisle surrounded by a sea of plastic yellow flowers. It was clear that Dorian had helped stage the snapshot. The art historian wore large cat-eye sunglasses, her arms outstretched in a theatrical pose, with the photo cropped at precisely the right angle to make it appear as if she was floating on the blooms. 

Tracing the image with his thumb, Solas admired the way the _vallaslin_ branches stretched over Ellana’s pronounced cheekbones, her blonde hair in wild waves around her shoulders. He marveled at the slight smile on her lips and how perfect it was. 

The buzz of his calendar alerts interrupted him, signaling that he had ten minutes to rouse himself and make it downstairs to have a drink with Gereon Alexius. Reluctantly, he sat up, tucking his phone away into the breast pocket of his blazer. Rubbing his hands over the stubble of his shaved scalp, he walked out the door of his hotel room, downstairs to the lobby bar. 

Solas was surprised to see no sign of the magister when he arrived, so he sat at the bar, ordering a pour of merlot from the passing bartender. Looking at his watch, as time passed by, He wondered if he might have been stood up. Taking out his phone, he snapped a photograph of the bar and his wine. 

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:30 p.m.** **  
**

I know a good wine bar in the old city.

**xxx-xxx-3454, 7:30 p.m.**

Would you like to go when I return? 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 7:31 p.m.** **  
****  
** I thought you’d never ask.

Hearing his name called out from the hostess stand, Solas spotted the grizzled face of Gereon Alexius. Tucking his phone reluctantly away, Solas did his best to push Ellana's face out of his mind, trying to recall all of the facts that Leliana had relayed to him to bait the mage into revealing his secret project.

It had never been harder for Solas to separate his two lives: the one where he was a healer and Professor, and the other where he was a liar and a spy. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried to capture the early fun of romantic texting
> 
> I haven't been able to convey this as much as I would like in this fic, but I picture Solas as a slightly nicer Doc Martin. He's awkward and cerebral, except to his friends, but especially warm to Ellana Lavellan
> 
> And also this is about 2.5 weeks after he drives Ellana home from the hospital.


	17. The One Where Lavellan Has A Terrible Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has a run-in at the department copy machine

**CHAPTER 17**

Ellana had spent most of her morning copying and scanning supplemental materials for her classes. She could have asked her teaching assistants to do so on her behalf; only after the assault, she had taken renewed pleasure in completing tasks that she could accomplish independently. 

Against better judgment, Ellana had pushed through her injuries.

The effort to make it to campus and keep her classroom running left her little time to be anxious over the attack--and the fact that the assailant was still at large. Occasionally, when traveling around campus or public transit, she’d sense someone following her. It was always reassuring to hear the plainclothes officer mutter “mud splasher about,” the code phrase to indicate to her who was and wasn’t part of her security detail. 

Although Ellana still was troubled that she didn’t have the whole picture involving the Elvhen fanatic, Andruil, that had attempted to bind her will. She did her best not to obsess. Leliana, who she still did not trust, had sent some pithy updates, but Ellana thought that obsessing over if she would or would not be attacked in the future was a waste of time and energy. 

She was grateful that the Department of Orlesian Homeland Security had made quick work of cleaning up the dismal scene around her office. She had steeled herself for whispers and half-hidden sneers on her fast day back at work. Her breath hitched a bit when she made the familiar trek back to her office, but finding the hallways cleaned of blood and put back to order as if it had never happened had brought her relief. 

“It is perhaps in everyone’s best interests to not let this story leak,” Leiliana had instructed her. 

“That’s smart,” the Iron Bull had agreed when she had asked for his opinion of the situation. “At the very least, it will give the appearance of strength, which makes you less of a target.” 

And so she moved forward with her life.

She had done her best to ensure that her students received engaging lectures and discussion materials. If they noticed that she leaned on the podium giving lectures or sometimes had shut her door to lay on her office floor, none had indicated anything other than enthusiasm. 

Two-and-a-half weeks later, she was finally starting to regain some of her usual pep. 

Or was that because her heart fluttered every time she received a text message from Professor Solas Fen’Harel?

Her cold feelings for him had shifted gradually, but she couldn’t deny the ease between the two of them. At the very least, she thought they could be friends. Indeed, other scholars throughout history had similar ideological differences and still managed to collaborate on projects. 

She was humming softly, turning the pages of a recent publication on Dwarven iconography and the Shaparate when she was interrupted by the unmistakable grumbling of Roderick Asignon rummaging through the piles of papers she had placed in order on the nearby prep table. 

“May I help you, Professor Asignon?” She asked in a dry voice. 

“You don’t use Brother Gentivi’s book? If I recall, the curriculum committee decided that the text was mandatory for all introductory courses.” 

“Yes, and the students in my courses do _utilize_ the Gentivi textbook.” 

“ _Brother_ Gentivi,” Roderick huffed, his face turning an unattractive shade of red. 

“Excuse me?” Ellana scoffed. The textbook in question was generally out of favor in many other universities as a nostalgic romp of the past. Although the good Brother had done his best to reconcile the various histories of all of the races of Thedas, his analysis was unmistakable, humancentric, and often misattributed artifacts and concepts. The book was beloved, but overall, useless. 

Besides, even if Professor Asignon was a senior faculty member, he was unequivocally a buffoon. 

“As both a dual-member of the Chantry and a senior faculty member, I insist that you use the honored scholar’s proper title.” Ellena had forgotten that Roderick was a Chantry scholar first and an art historian second. Remembering that didn't make Ellana feel any less irate. 

“Thank you, I will take your advice under consideration,” Ellana said in a cold voice, turning her attention back to the copy machine. She knew that if she reacted in anger that she would lose the battle. 

“You would do best to take this advice into consideration: mind your attitude,” Roderick hissed, slinking back to his large corner office before Ellana could respond any further. 

For the next hour-and-a-half, Ellana ignored the crashes and snorts coming out of his office while she copied, scanned, and collated her various handouts. She could hear the low murmur of Roderick making several phone calls while murmuring, evidently about her conduct. Walking pointedly to her purse, Ellana took out her phone and a pair of headphones, pushing the volume up past an acceptable level so that it was clear she was not listening to his tantrum. 

When her work was done at the copy machine, Ellana packed all of her papers and books into a few tote bags when Roderick rushed out again. Blocking her exit, the man crossed his arms, a sour frown on his face. 

“Pardon me, Professor,” Ellana said, doing her best to assume her full height. A difficult task given the heavy books and stacks of handouts she was carrying. 

“You should know, out of concern for your students, I have contacted Vivienne to speak about your disregard for the scholarship and professional culture of this department. Surely, you can’t be blamed for your ignorance considering your upbringing.” 

“You are out of line,” Ellana said, her voice taut with rage. Ignorance was often code for savage when speaking about Dalish elves. He might as well have called her _rabbit_ or _knife-ear._ “How I choose to run my classroom is none of your business. Now, get out of my way, or I will report you for harassment.” 

Roderick slumped a bit as he moved out of the doorframe, but his frown indicated only one thing to Ellana: it was war between them. 

When she turned down the hallway, she could hear him call out at her, “Report me all you want. This is _my_ department.” 

_Sure, jerk._

Strolling back to her office, she did her best to keep the feelings of defeat at bay. Dropping her pile of books on her desk, for the first time, she slammed the door and buried her head in her hands, overwhelmed with the obstacles that she continued to face. She had never been one prone to have emotional outbursts, preferring to view the flow of the world as a rational one. Moving to Val Royeaux threatened her outlook that the rules might be unfair at times but that any hurdle could be overcome by identifying the underlying pattern and persevering through a solution. 

Before she came to Orlais, Ellana could barely remember the last time she cried. Now, she had lost count of how many situations she found herself in fighting back the tears. So much had happened in so little time. _What more could go wrong?_

She shouldn’t have asked that question. A few seconds later, her phone buzzed in her purse. Thinking it was a message from Solas, Ellana’s heart sunk when she found a message from her Chair instead. 

**xxx-xxx-4245, Vivienne Le Fer, 1:14 p.m**.  
  
Ellana, darling, please come to my office within the next half-an-hour

 **xxx-xxx-4245, Vivienne Le Fer, 1:14 p.m** .  
  
I hear there has been a misunderstanding. 

Doing her best to collect herself, Ellana stood, smoothing her black suit set and adjusting the gold patterned scarf tied around her shoulders. Grabbing her handbag, she counted to ten, doing her best to suppress the feelings of dread that threatened to spill over. Surely, Vivienne would see reason if she found the right words? 

Somehow, she was skeptical that she would receive any compassion from the ruthless curator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ The University of Orlais is not very woke & this situation is abusive and so out of line, it made me a little mad to wrote it. Workplace bullying and harassment is a plague (along with so many other things). 
> 
> +I'm enjoying that Ellana is more the rational one than Solas, she's much more practical and straightforward while he's very abstract and creative. 
> 
> \+ Apparently mud splashers are what Dwarves call nugs.


	18. The One Where Solas and Lavellan have a Late Night Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana chat on the phone. Things get a little flirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the readers who have written about how much they enjoy this Ellana and were worried about what she faced in Vivienne's office!

**CHAPTER 18**

Solas was packing his rolling suitcase. He should be leaving for Val Royeaux the next morning as the conference was finally over. Only, now he was flying directly to Tevinter to tour Gereon Alexius’ lab under the guise of offering his expertise on the mage's experimental research. The task brought him no relish. Alexius was arrogant. On occasion, his beliefs edged towards mage supremacy. Considering, however, that Solas would be traveling to Minrathous on the magister’s private jet and staying at his home, he needed to find it in himself to feign enthusiasm. 

He suspected that the only one that felt any joy about the situation was Leiliana. 

Alexis didn’t seem particularly keen on hosting an elf at his sprawling estate. 

Opening the mini-bar, Solas grabbed the single bottle of dry champagne, peeled off the foil, and popped the cork across the room. Searching the set-up, he located a stack of plastic cups wrapped in cling wrap. Pouring himself a glass, he resolved to bill to the Inquisition for the whole exorbitant amount. 

It was trite, but drinking such an expensive drink from a disposable cup made him feel like a delinquent. Knowing the disapproving look, Leliana would make when she saw the charge brought him an additional petty burst of satisfaction. 

Unable to sleep, Solas began to flip through the hundreds of television channels, lamenting to himself how terrible scriptwriting had become, when he heard his phone vibrate on the nightstand. Picking it up, he found a text from Ellana. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, Ellana Lavellan, 11:45 p.m.  
** **  
**Today was perhaps more awful than fractured ribs.

 _Awful? Fractured ribs?_ In a matter of seconds, Solas pulled up Ellana’s contact information and hit the phone icon to dial her number. The phone rang a few times before he realized what he had done, and a confused voice at the other end answered.

“H-hello? S-Solas?” 

“Ellana?” 

“Yes, did you mean to call me--was this a butt dial?” She asked with a slight twinge of amusement. Solas could picture her smile, the branches of her _vallaslin_ twisting on her cheeks. 

“No. I-I. No. You sounded upset. I wanted to see--or rather--ask what was wrong.” 

Solas gritted his teeth. He regretted having called Ellana without a plan, or at least a greeting prepared. It wasn’t like him to have such a knee-jerk reaction. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ellana said with a slight sigh before her voice warmed again “It was a long day. I didn’t mean to worry you--I should have thought given--I mean what my word choices might imply--all things considered.” 

“I can let you go, of course.” He responded, shutting off the TV hopefully. He was enjoying the sound of her voice. “It is late.” 

“No,” she responded as if she were considering the offer. Solas could hear the sound of papers rustling in the background, and the scrape of a chair, as Ellana moved about her apartment. “I’m glad you called, it is nice to have someone to talk with. Although, I forgot about the time difference. Do you need to go to bed?” 

“It is late, but I was packing. Generally, I don’t sleep much. Long hospital shifts.” 

“Ah, will you be returning tomorrow?” 

Solas tried to repress the joy he felt, hearing the eagerness in Ellana’s voice. He liked to think it demonstrated that she was as excited about the possibility of seeing him as he was her. 

“I have attended better conferences,” he admitted wryly. “I’m afraid I’ve been asked to travel out of the city to consult on a few difficult cases.” 

It wasn’t a direct lie, but Solas was surprised at how much deceiving Ellana hurt him. His gut twisted. It wasn’t the first lie that he had told her. Only, the stakes seemed to have shifted. Even if he could tell her the truth, confessing the extent of his involvement in the Inquisition might cause him to lose her. Let alone if he admitted his connection to the Evanuris. What would Ellana think if she knew how intimately he was linked to the same group that had attacked her? 

“Will you return in time for the Hallow’s Eve costume contest, at least?” Ellana asked with a renewed cheerfulness. 

“I’m unsure, _lethallan.”_

“According to Dorian, it is the best event of the year.” 

“No doubt, it is my favorite campus tradition. Or perhaps the only one I enjoy? Tell me, however, about your day.”

He could sense Ellana stiffening, a slight intake of breath abruptly hitting the receiver of the phone. 

“It’s not your injuries? Did Morrigan give you any cause for concern?” 

“No--no, I’m sorry to make you think. It’s just. Well, I don't know.” 

It sounded to Solas as if she flopped on the floor with a small huff. 

“Yes?” 

“This conversation between us--it caused me to become a bit carried away. What I mean to say is a friendship between us might be challenging.” 

“Does it trouble you? We aren’t in the same department.” _A conversation? Friendship? Is that what this is?_ Solas was worried he might have read too much into the exchange. After all, Ellana didn’t have many friends in Val Royeaux, perhaps this conversation was developed out of convenience only. 

“No, it's. I had some problems with a senior faculty member today. I wouldn’t want to disparage one of your colleagues.” 

“Was it Roderick?” He groaned. He hated the little man that managed to upset any reasonable policy or measure on campus. They had served on several committees together, and the tyrant had regularly attempted to convert Solas to Andrastianism.

“How did you know?” Solas sensed surprise in her voice. 

“It's always Roderick Asignon. I don’t know why the administration hasn’t fired him.” 

“It is…” her voice trailed off. “I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. Nor do I want to be accused of benefiting from nepotism.” 

“Neither is happening--everyone knows Roderick is an inflated egomaniac. Last year he petitioned the faculty senate to halve the funding to any science department because he thought concepts like evolution and magical theory went against Andraste. He targeted me in particular, given my study of magic.” 

Solas paused, not wanting to go into a full explanation of his scholarship in the event it reminded Ellana about that foolish review he had written about her work. It appeared to him that they had put the subject on hold, at least temporarily. 

“He lectured me on my attitude and called me an ignorant savage.” 

“What!” Solas interjected. “ _Pala’an, telam’dirtha_.” 

Ellana laughed at his obscene use of Elvhen, translating roughly into common as “Fuck that person, and his bad words.” 

“Well, your outrage is clear. _Ar’ame tel’din_. At least, not angry anymore. That’s not a burden I care to carry with me longer than a day.” 

“ _Tel’samahl_. He called you an ignorant savage? I take it because you are Dalish?”

Solas didn't know why he found himself so worked up. 

“That would be correct. Verbatim, he said, he couldn’t ‘blame me for my ignorance considering my upbringing.’ Oh, and then he blocked the doorway when I tried to exit the office.” 

Solas clenched his fist. He was having a hard time keeping his fury under control. His position at the university was such that he could make a few phone calls, and Roderick would never dare to set foot in the same room as Ellana again, but he didn’t want to undermine Ellana.

“That is harassment.” 

“I _know_ its harassment.” 

“Did you report it to Vivienne?” 

“Not until after Roderick reported me to Vivienne.” 

“Oh, Creators, Ellana, what could he possibly report you for?”

“Not using the required textbook properly. A textbook he insisted upon despite better academic judgment.” 

“Vivienne loathes him. Surely--”

“On the whole, Vivienne was reasonable. She volunteered to speak with Roderick about his conduct. She did also lecture me at length about understanding different pedagogical models and respecting seniority.”

Solas tried to interrupt and reassure Ellana once again that Roderick was an ass, only to be cut off.

“Sorry, I have to stop you. Knowing the senior faculty gossip could be construed as an unfair advantage. Imagine what people would say if they thought you were trying to influence Vivienne on my behalf.” 

“Ah, yes. I didn’t think of that.” 

Solas took another nervous sip of champagne from the plastic cup. The pause lingered for a few seconds longer than was comfortable. He was worried that he had upset Ellana. He was doing his best not to sour the evening. 

“Solas?” 

“Yes?”

“This might be an impossible task for both of us, but I think we should keep our _conversation_ separate from work. Besides, all I seem to do is write email responses to students who don’t bother to read the syllabus. Give me something else to think about.” 

Solas found the sentence joyful, mostly for the way it demonstrated that Ellana was flirting, if not actively. 

He could hear the opening and closing of a door, followed by the sound of a few bangs as if Ellana was hitting a mallet or clanging a dish together. 

“Are you cooking?” Solas asked curiously, really only to delay having to come up with another topic. He knew the question came out a bit forced. 

“No, I actually hate cooking. I’m grabbing a bag of frozen peas to ice my ribs.” 

“Are they--”

“Nope, new subject,” she insisted, with an awkward laugh. “I think if I talk about my rib fractures one more time, I will turn into Fereledan barbeque.” 

Solas chuckled. It was a struggle for him to find something to ask about other than work. He knew about Ellana’s career and research interests. Also that she was Dalish. Other than that, he realized he didn’t know much else. 

“If you don’t like cooking,” Solas stammered, “What do you like?” 

Solas found it pleasurable to talk about something so commonplace as hobbies. An opinion Ellana seemed to share as she hummed to herself for a few seconds before answering. 

“Hmm. Other than art? I like swimming. Minrathous is always hot, so my friends and I lived on ocean beaches. I run, haven’t in Val Royeux. Certainly not right now--unfortunately.” 

“Do you miss it?” 

“The running or Minrathous?”

“Minrathous.” 

“More and more, it seems. Have you been?” 

Solas’ heart sunk a bit. He had been to the city--and would return tomorrow--but only on Inquisition business. Hinting at the task, he faced over the next few days would put Ellana in danger. However, it felt like a curse that it was unavoidable for him to lie in an otherwise commonplace conversation. 

“No, I’ve never been. I would like to one day.” 

“You speak Elvhen well. Where did you learn it?” 

“Did I surprise you?” Solas chuckled. 

“No--I didn’t mean. I know you’re not Dalish. Only its a dying language--” 

“It was my first language. I was born in one of the remote Northern cities. Farming town.” 

“Ah, so your family?”

“Pushed out of the cities when the alienages were cleaned out, I suspect. I don’t know for sure. My parents died right after I was born.” 

“It must be hard not to know your history.” Ellana acknowledged in a quiet voice. 

“I have seen enough in my journeys, perhaps, to make up for lost dreams." 

“How poetic,” Ellana said in a voice somewhere between sarcasm and appreciation. It riled Soals up, to be teased like that. 

Solas wanted to ask about her family and clan but stopped himself, remembering that Leliana told him they had died when they were at the hospital. It seemed as if it was also a topic Ellana also wanted to avoid as she changed the subject. 

“That also explains why you don’t have an accent,” Ellana observed, which Solas assumed meant the guttural trill of High Elvhen favored by the Dalish clans. 

“Neither do you!” Solas pointed out dryly. 

“Oh, but I do. I learned to talk like a true _shemlin,_ **”** Ellana said with the typical stretched out vowels and the hard throaty emphasis on r’s that Dalish speakers were known for. “Less threatening that way.” 

“I think your accent is much more _sigen’dirth_.” He offered. The phrase was translated literally as sugar-speaker and was generally written as ‘sweet talker. In common, the phrase was innocuous, implying that someone spoke beautifully, but in Elvhen, it had several erotic uses. Such as a person who kissed so skillfully, as if their lips were covered in sugar, that a lover could never refuse them. 

Solas had forgotten the latter. The heat began to rise to his face as he tried to gauge Ellana's reaction. Ellana evidently had not been offended and was laughing. It was an excited giggle at first, developing into a hearty cackle. 

“This was not the turn I intended this phone call to take, ” Solas stuttered. Surely, Ellana would think him such a dolt after saying such a careless thing. Or worse, consider him a lecher. 

“How did you intend this call to go?” Ellana replied. Her voice was playful, but he could sense some tension underneath. She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for a reply or confirmation. 

“Obviously, I did not have an agenda.” He rubbed his hand over his head and face, choosing honesty over another attempt at flirting. “The champagne must be getting to my head.”

“Champagne? I’m jealous.” 

“When I return. Would you let me take you to--” 

“Are you a _sigen’dirth_ , _hahren ?_ ” Ellana’s interrupted him. Her voice was casual, but the question was brazen enough to provoke a jolt in his body. 

He had to pause, not to let the shudder surface in his voice. 

“That theory remains untested.” 

“Is that an invitation?” Ellana breathed. 

His heart was pounding, and Solas pictured kissing Ellana repeatedly. Unsure at the same time, if he should allow himself to fantasize about her in such a way. He had already thought about kissing her, more than once, but it seemed different to do so with her on the other end of the line. 

“It could be,” He dared, his voice growing low. 

“I think we should revisit the subject on your return.” She teased, her words muffled as if she were touching her lips. He imagined her pulling at them the same way his mouth might. 

The silence between them was thick with anticipation. For a moment, Solas thought of telling her exactly what he thought about the subject, before retreating. 

“Ellana?” He interrupted gently. He wanted to say he was hanging up the phone, catching the first plane back to Val Royeaux, and driving straight to her apartment door. _In another world, he would be._ That was not the reality, however, given what he faced the next morning. 

“Yes?” 

“I was going to let you know this tomorrow.” Solas continued with some melancholy, “I won’t be reachable when I leave the city. My phone won’t have a reception.” 

“I understand,” she said a bit sadly. 

“I will call you as soon as I land in Val Royeaux. Depending on your schedule….”

“I’ll keep my phone on,” Ellana said warmly with a yawn that did little to disguise the flirtation lingering in every word she spoke. “Although I can’t make any promises.” 

“Of course,” he chuckled, “ _On nydha.”_

 _“On nydha,_ Solas.” 

A click sound told him she had hung up. Looking at the watch, Solas saw they had been talking for longer than he intended. He’d be lucky to get a few hours of sleep. However, It had been worth it.

Solas went through the motions of getting ready for bed. His thoughts were on Ellana as he brushed his teeth, pulled off his clothes, and crawled into the empty hotel bed. 

Had he ever felt this way before? 

Only a sharp feeling of dread overcame him as he remembered what he faced over the next few days. The dangers of his double-life rarely bothered him. Someone had to ensure that the Evanurias would not gain power or resources. Fate had identified him as one of those individuals. It was merely a job. 

Only now was it? A step in the wrong direction, and he could be harmed. Perhaps even killed. Or worse, Ellana could be. 

What was this tangled web he found himself in? 

Solas had never found it to be so cruel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI as always for helping me string Elvhen words together. I've translated some of the words in text, here are the others:  
> Ar’ame tel’din=I am not mad  
> Tel’samahl=don't joke (lit. don't laugh, doing the best I can with Bioware conlang here)  
> On nydha=Good night 
> 
> s/o to my writing group, and our member who is the official romance consultant for helping me through some of the flirty dialogue. These two are so cerebral that it was hard finding a way through their flirt-times 
> 
> Yeah, Solas' job in the Inquisition sucks.


	19. The One Where Cassandra and Lavellan Catch up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana grabs a drink with Cassandra who moved back to Val Royeux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's crazy that over 1000 people have opened this story up! I know that's not very high in comparison to a lot of stories out there, but I'm really grateful for everyone taking the time to read and comment.

**CHAPTER 19**

Ellana was sitting by herself at the oaken bar of The Kirkwall, admiring the ornaments and lights decorating the walls to celebrate Hallow’s Eve.

She had always loved this season and had admired the storefronts on her walk from the train. Unlike Tevinter with its abstract black and gold ribbons, or the esoteric Elven rituals of smoke and piety, Orlais’ interpretation of the holiday was festive. Carved pumpkins called jack-o-lanterns and orange strands of electric lights hung from every available surface. 

Other than Varric and the cooks in the back, she was the only one in the tavern.

It gave her a chance to scroll through her phone to re-read the text conversation between her and Solas and search it for any new meanings. Ellana missed their conversation more than she wanted to admit. Speaking on the phone, however, had confirmed the heat of their chemistry. Thinking about how rugged and deep Solas’ voice had gone when Ellana had teased him made her break out in a wicked grin. 

Selfishly, she wished she was meeting with Solas at The Kirkwall that evening. The night before, she had leaped across her studio apartment when she heard her phone vibrate. Her disappointment not to hear from him was short-lived when she read the name of one of her oldest friends flash across the screen. 

**xxx-xxx-1925, Cassandra Penthegast, 7:00 p.m.** **  
**Lala, I’ve been transferred to Val Royeaux

 **xxx-xxx-1925, Cassandra Penthegast, 7:01 p.m.** **  
**It was unexpected. I wondered if you’d like to meet up tmrw?

Ellana smiled at the use of her college nickname, along with the unanticipated good news. Cassandra was a prosecutor who had spent the last few years working in Montsimmard. The two had met in undergrad, keeping in touch as Cassandra went to law school, becoming an expert in navigating the complicated interplay between the monarchy, Chantry doctrine, and an elected parliament in Orlesian law. The two had bonded over their zealous hours studying at the library, later becoming roommates.

Over the past few years, they had drifted a bit, but Ellana still loved her friend. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 7:05 p.m.** **  
**Absolutely. Have you heard of The Kirkwall?

 **xxx-xxx-1925, Cassandra Penthegast, 7:06 p.m.** **  
**Oh, Varric Tethras owns it?

 **xxx-xxx-1925, Cassandra Penthegast, 7:09 p.m.** **  
**I wouldn’t mind letting him know I’m in town.

 **xxx-xxx-3245, 7:11 p.m.** **  
**That sounds ominous. Can we go somewhere else?

 **xxx-xxx-1925, Cassandra Penthegast, 7:09 p.m.** **  
**Let’s go! 7:00 p.m. meet you there?

 **xxx-xxx-3245, 7:11 p.m.** **  
**I should have known that you’d find a way to mix business & pleasure. Xoxo

 **xxx-xxx-1925, Cassandra Penthegast, 7:12 p.m.** **  
**You are one to talk. See you there!

Ellana couldn’t help arriving a little early, sipping on a glass of merlot waiting for Cassandra. Pulling out her phone, she had been reading through her faculty email when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Turning to see her friend, an undignified yip escaped from Ellana as she wrapped the reserved woman in a warm hug. 

“I’ve missed you!” Ellana cried, drawing back to see Cassandra grimacing a bit. She knew better than to take her cold greeting personally. She noticed that Cassandra looked a bit tired, obviously coming from work in a matching purple pantsuit. Her ID card still hanging from around her neck, with the sword and eye sigil of the District Attorney’s office emblazoned on the front. 

“That is clear,” Cassandra sighed in her Nevarran accent before taking the seat next to her and softening. “It is good to see you too, my friend.”

The two were interrupted by Varric coming out from the kitchen, stepping up on the platform designed for his use to the tall bartop, an apprehensive look in his eyes as he spotted the lean brunette woman. 

“Cassandra Pehteghast,” The Dwarf said, “What will it be?” 

“I move a couple hundred miles to Orlais, and it seems as though everyone knows each other,” Ellana lamented in the background. 

“Knowing is a bit strong in this instance,” Cassandra said dryly before intensely staring at Varric, who blanched under her gaze in a way that signaled to Ellana that the two knew each other, “Whiskey, neat.” 

The Dwarf grabbed a bottle from the opposite wall, an Antivan blend with a sword on the label, and gracefully poured a glass, tossing it. Hence, it practically glided across the bar before throwing a towel over his shoulder and fleeing back to the kitchen.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Ellana wearily asked Cassandra. 

“We have a mutual friend that has evaded my attention for some time. Subpoena and all. Other than that, no.” 

The two took a sip of their drinks in unison. A small content silence that reminded Ellana of their days as undergraduates studying together. 

“I didn’t know I’d be in Val Royeux until earlier this week. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you adjust to Orlesian life. Its…” 

“Very vibrant?” Ellana offered weakly. “Especially for elves.” 

“Yes,” Cassandra teased, taking a sip of her whiskey. “I can’t say I don’t think about moving to Fereldan--or even Navarra--bar exam, and all, a few times a year.” 

Ellana laughed at the stern woman’s attempt at friendly humor. She knew that Cassandra would never leave her post in the Chantry branch of government that Orlais relied on for its Department of Justice. She was a true believer in Andraste and the church, a subject that they rarely delved into, given that Ellana was culturally polytheist, but mostly disinterested in 

“Has it gone well?” 

“There are parts of it I like. I’ve started making some good friends. My students are beyond amazing. But--”

“Yes?” 

Ellana recalled a conversation she had with the prosecutor shortly before driving from Tevinter to the Orlesian capital. Cassandra had been supportive, especially of the prestigious job opportunity. Still, she had warned the newly minted professor that life might not be as idyllic as Ellana hoped, considering that Dalish elves had been banned up until the last twenty years from entering the country. That, and Cassandra gave her full warning that the Orlesian game of flattery and artifice could be agonizing to deal with considering Ellana’s straightforward manner.

“I think you were right. I don’t know if I fit in here. It’s been a little rough. My department--and Cass, I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I was attacked outside my office by a roving fanatic.” 

“Ellana!” Cassandra exhaled, gripping Ellana’s arm tightly. ‘Why didn’t you call? Why do you never call when you need help!” 

“I know, I’m sorry. It happened so fast, and these last few weeks have been so hard. If it wasn’t for my new friends, Dorian and his husband Bull--and my colleague Solas--I don’t know how I would have gotten through it.” 

Ellana summarized the whole incident for Cassandra, leaving out the more secretive parts of the story. When she finished, Cassandra slammed the rest of her whiskey down before exhaling loudly. “Did you call--”

“No, I didn’t call _him_ ,” Ellana cut off her friend with a glare, “I don’t know why you think that situation is so unresolved. We ended things amicably years ago.” 

“You might have officially ended things,” Cassandra smiled, “However, I know you spent the last few summers up until recently…” 

“Enjoying each other’s company?” Ellana finished with a grin before gulping down the rest of her wine. ‘I tell you that I almost became a victim of blood magic, hexed to do the bidding of who-knows-who to do who-knows-what and all you want to know about is the current state of my romantic life?” 

“You must forgive me,” Cassandra said with an unrepentant smile, “It was quite the saga for a while.” 

“You are the only one who made it a saga,” Ellana laughed, shaking her head. “Besides, how is Galyan?” 

“Galyan-ey,” Cassandra replied evasively. 

Varric popped out of the kitchen again, a knowing look on his face, not even bothering to ask as he poured another serving of wine for Ellana and a glass of whiskey for Cassandra. Disappearing for a second, he returned with a bowl of olives and a cheese plate. 

“Thank you, Varric,” Ellana shouted, not bothering to keep her volume at an acceptable level considering the two women were the only patrons in the bar that night. 

As Cassandra shoved a piece of cheese in her mouth, Ellana tried to discreetly check her phone for any missed messages. All the talk of romance made her wonder if she might hear from Solas that evening.

“Am I so boring?” Cassandra asked sarcastically. 

“No, Cass, I’m sorry. I was hoping I might hear from someone this evening.” 

“Someone that isn’t...?” 

“Yes, someone I met here. Recently.” 

“Is it the Doctor?” Cassandra sounded excited. Ellana knew she wanted to know all the details. Despite her churlish exterior, Cassandra loved anything to do with romance. A secret she hid except for those closest to her. 

“How did you know!” Ellana shrieked., covering her face in embarrassment. She could feel her face grow hot and red at the mention of the professor’s name. She hadn’t intended to be obvious about her feelings. 

“You play with your hair or blush any time you mention him. You always do that when you have a crush.” 

“That situation is complicated.” 

“Please tell me he’s not married.”

“No! Cassandra, why would he be married?” 

“You said it was complicated.” 

“Do you remember...that bad review of my book last year?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“He wrote it.” 

Cassandra sat sipping her drink with a quizzical look on her face as she was thinking through all of the possible consequences. 

“Is that how you met--did he seek you out?”

“No. I was lost on the first day of classes, and Solas ran into me--literally--afterward, he helped me find my classroom.” 

“Almost as if fate were driving the two of you together,” Cassandra mussed. “That must have been quite the apology to get you to let go of that, as you referred to it, ‘grave injustice.’” 

“I might have been overly indignant,” Ellana admitted. “He is rather kind. He drove me home from the hospital after he saved my life. He even stayed to make sure I would be ok after I was nothing but difficult.” 

“He sounds considerate. Why did he write the review, though?”

“I don’t know. The answer he gave me was so haphazard. He’s a bit elusive, but underneath that, he is so compassionate, and our _conversations_! Ugh, I've never had a crush on someone with a mind like this. I don't really understand the mechanics of what he does, but just the way he talks..." 

“Where is he right now?”

“Navarra, actually, for a medical conference and then consulting on some difficult cases in the rural countryside. He said he would text me when he returns--which should be any minute now.” 

She could feel the heat rising to her face again. She hadn't had many romantic escapades. Only the one, infamous as it was, worthy of conversation. 

“You’re infatuated,” Cassandra observed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this way not even with _him_.” 

“What should I do?” Ellana asked. She had often relied on Cassandra’s judgment over the years. Surely, if she felt lost, the prosecutor would know what to do. 

“Do whatever is in your heart, my friend. If the obstacles you experience are surmountable, you will overcome them. I also think the only one that can decide that is you." 

If the advice had come from anyone else, Ellana would have thought it was sarcastic. Only she knew Cassandra to be eternally forthright, no matter the situation, even if it were at her friend's own expense. 

“I’m _so_ glad you moved her Cass. I’ve been feeling so off the entire time I’ve been here---in Tevinter, even when I was adjuncting around the country, I had a life, hobbies, friends. I have some of those things in Orlais. Only it’s been challenging to get settled enough to feel like I’m part of the city. I've never felt so indecisive and lost.” 

“I am your friend, Lala. I will always be your friend,” Cassandra said, squeezing her hand. The act earned her another deep embrace from Ellana, who clung a little longer than necessary. 

“That’s enough!” Cassandra groaned. “You can buy me a drink if you really feel that appreciative. Or several" 

Ellana laughed, feeling for the first time in a long while, like her normal self. 

"You're lucky, Cass, that I actually receive a paycheck now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my take on that awkward marriage conversation in the Tresspasser DLC. 
> 
> The action is going to be picking up again soon. 
> 
> WHO IS ELLANA'S MYSTERIOUS PAST SUITOR?!?
> 
> time will tell.


	20. The One Where Solas Has An Awful Side Hustle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas goes on a bad spy mission.

**Chapter 20**

Solas woke up with a jerk. His hands pawed at a stinging sensation in his chest. Firm hands guided him back to the ground before he could pull at the oblong tube he found lodged in the center of his torso. As his vision cleared, Solas made out the distinctive buzzcut of Clarel de Chanson, the lead commander of the Orlesian branch of the Grey Wardens. 

Clarel was pulling out an oversized needle, ignoring his twitching muscles as she applied an antiseptic and a bandage over the wound. _Adrenaline_ Solas realized, as he tried to steady his breaths. It meant his heart had given out, however, momentarily. 

“I’d give you a pain killer,” Clarel said in a gruff Orlesian accent, packing away her medical supplies, “But it might fuck you up.” 

Solas managed a small nod, as the Warden checked his pulse and listened to his heartbeat, the cold metal of the stethoscope grating against his skin. It felt to Solas as if he were on fire, his limbs spasming on the floor. Judging from the pile of discarded lyrium bottles, Clarel had also used her mana to knit together his bones and muscles. The way his lungs expanded and contracted in his chest like a taut balloon made him think she had also repaired his organs.

It was not the first time Solas had come to in such a fashion, but each time he had pushed his body this far, it seemed to lose elasticity. 

“We don’t know what they gave you, a toxicology report will be back soon.” She soothed in her best attempt at a bedside manner. 

“Where am I?” Solas choked out. He tried to make the shapes out in the room. The light was so bright, a series of small round windows opened to a clear blue sky. On either side of his body were aisles of cushioned seats in various configurations. 

“Thirty thousand feet above the ground,” Clarel smiled in an admiring way that did little to reassure Solas. “Do you remember jumping off the cliff?” 

“Barely,” he muttered, realizing that the clothes he still wore were damp. The Grey Wardens stealth unit must have been nearby Alexius’ estate if things did not go according to plan. He flashed back to a foggy memory of a man in high tech gear, suspended from the plane, pulling him out of the ocean. 

“Your digital goods?” Another voice in the background asked. Solas recognized the husky voice of Ser Jean-Marc Stroud. 

“I took dummies, agents cleared my suitcase before travel,” Solas replied, the protocol of going undercover all too familiar to him. He had been skeptical of this mission, thinking it too easy, but when he had brought up his fears to Leliana, she had brushed them aside as paranoid. “If any survived the fall, look in my blazer’s breast pocket.” 

Solas had been in Minrathous for less than twenty-four hours before he had fled out of the dining room as fast as his Fade step could carry him. When they arrived, Alexius had been a doting host, escorting Solas around his sprawling estate on the top of one of the hills outside of Minrathous. The front looked over the city, while the back had an ocean view. The home itself was a labyrinth of dusty halls, covered in frescos of half-forgotten mythologies and filled with trinkets from Tevinter’s ancient days. Solas had lost count of each different room they toured. The magister, dressed in a gray suit paired with a tight black t-shirt, had picked up any number of artifacts highlighting how many years it had been in his family. 

“One of the preeminent mage families of Tevinter. Never a generation without a mage. Who were your people?” He had asked Solas over dinner later that evening. 

“I was a ward of the state,” Solas shrugged. The answer had enough truth to it that he could say it convincingly. 

“The elves simply don’t have the stability the old Tevinter families do. It’s a shame because the magic runs more deeply in your people.” 

Solas could only politely smile over his glass of red wine, clenching his fist under the table in response to the cutting words, silently cursing. 

The first night, Solas wondered if Alexius was suspicious of him. His reputation as a former Inquisition member was well-known in certain circles. Still, his anxiety lessened when the magister took him on a tour of his lab, explaining the theoretical underpinnings of his newly developed time magic. 

“Have you attempted to use it yet?” Solas asked. He was curious enough, but thought that Alexius could very well lie if he had. 

“Not yet,” Alexius admitted, pointing to a whiteboard covered esoteric alchemic notations and glyphs. “Although I have developed several hypothetical scenarios to evaluate its capabilities.” 

Looking at the amulet in front of him, Solas noted the design in honor of old Tevinter gods, two twisting gold ropes with two dragon heads holding a fade crystal. between their two moths. A fade crystal large enough that it would have cost half of the Orlesian GDP. It was probable that Alexius had taken the rare material from an item amongst his family’s collection. 

Solas had to suppress a shudder. Dreaming in the Fade and peeling back the layers of history was one thing. Hypothetically, an adept mage could travel just far enough back in time that they could power up the amulet just enough to keep going backwards. Returning forward might be the only tricky part. 

If the Evanurius got a hold of such a thing, it would be easy to slip far enough in the past to be able to find the foci needed to tear down the Veil. Such an outcome had to be stopped. He had thought to slip the magical equipment into his jacket and run out the door, when Alexius shut the case, and walked it back to the safe. 

When he went to bed that night he spent hours staring at the lavishly painted ceiling. Solas wondered at what research collaborations he might offer Alexius that would entice him enough that the Inquisition could get their hands on the technology. 

He also wondered how a certain Dr. Ellana Lavellan was doing, trying to push away the fantasy of what it would be like if they were together at the moment. If he was going to make it through this mission, such thoughts had to be put out of mind. 

At breakfast the next morning, Solas was sipping coffee from a porcelain cup when his trained ear could hear soft footsteps behind him. Standing he turned to make out Alexius holding a large vial of smokey red liquid. 

Solas brought a wave of blue magic to his fingers, ducking as Alexius threw the vial, shooting back a pulse of magic in the mage's direction. 

It hit the wall behind him, sheets of plaster cascaded to the ground. 

Solas was about to exit the door when Alexius was joined by half a dozen figures, all dressed in black, wearing face masks. The group circled him. Solas could feel the mana in the air gather together as each of the mysterious figures' pulled from the Fade. He was about to thin the veil and use their own magic against them, when he felt a sharp jab in his shoulder. 

The piercing sensation surprised Solas, the toxins coursing his veins. The room around him seemed to shake and constrict. Wheezing, he could feel what he thought was Alexius summoning a spell to knock him out for good. 

_Run,_ he urged his magic, a fade step aiding his exit out an elaborate hallway. He made it to the end, when he felt himself roughly grabbed and pulled into a wardrobe. 

Bringing up a blue ball of mana in his hand, Solas was about to fill the interior with bolts of electricity, when the figure whispered the Grey Warden code word, “Griffon Watch,” to indicate he was not a threat. Even though his head was spinning, Solas could make out the face of a young man, no older than thirty, his head shaved, a thin brown mustache on the top of his lip. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Solas guessed he was an agent that Leliana had planted there. 

“My father gave you a sedative, no doubt of his design; you only have a few more minutes before you go unconscious. We’ll have to hurry if you don't want him and his minions to catch up to us.” 

_Father?_ Solas thought to himself. Alexius had not mentioned his son. He must have misheard as sleep was already taking hold of him. Using the rest of his mana, Solas summoned a healing spell, attempting to will his body to simply walk. 

The young man wasted no time, gripping Solas’ arm tightly, as he used his magic to rush them to the front door, past the ornate ionic columns and frescos of historic Tevinter battles, and out to the edge of the estate’s yard, at the edge of a cliff that fell hundreds of feet to an angry sea below. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” Solas asked him. 

“I don’t know if you have a choice!” The young man laughed, clearly amused by the thrill. “Only, if you don’t jump, you’re going to be overtaken by a gang of Venatori, and that will be most unpleasant. My father wanted to offer you to their elven partners.” 

The repetition of the word father made Solas pause again. A nudge by the man, forcing him to sudden alertness. 

Reluctantly walking to the edge of the green yard, Solas fell to his knees as the sedative wore away at his resolve. At the very least, he’d be unconscious when he plummeted to the swirling water. If he were lucky, the fall itself would kill him. 

_Ellana,_ a voice in the back of his head had repeated.

Solas was a man of broken dreams. 

“Wait!” The young man shouted when Solas had put his arms out, steeling himself for the drop. 

Walking forward with a rakish grin, the man summoned a green wave of magic that flickered in the air before surrounding Solas’ entire body in a warm protective layer of magic. 

_Barrier_ Solas realized gratefully. It was strong. If he were lucky, it would be enough. 

“Best of luck, friend!” He could hear the man shout as Solas flung himself off the edge. 

Solas didn’t remember hitting the water. 

He was glad to wake up. It was, a simple joy filled with great relief. The day light streaming in feeling suddenly valuable, if not mystical. 

The pressure in the cabin was changing as the plane began to descend. Stroud helped Solas up and guided him into one of the passenger seats, nodding for Solas to fasten his seatbelt. 

Solas clenched his eyes, his limbs ached. The change in pressure made his head hurt even more, his ears popping as the plane began to land.

A few minutes later, feeling the plane hit the ground, Solas looked up to see Stroud holding out a sweatsuit, the kind that Warden cadets wore when training. It would look ridiculous on him, but he couldn’t very well depart with his ripped open shirt and tattered pants. Pulling off his clothes, Solas pulled the dry cotton over his skin with a sigh of relief before tightening the string belt at the waist. 

“Weird not to see you in a suit,” Stroud grumbled as he escorted Solas off of the tarmac towards a large SUV, opening the door for Solas to climb into the front seat. Clarel soon followed, carrying a medical bag, and an IV, that she rigged up, skillfully inserting the needle into Solas’ vein for the car ride, 

“This should help clear out the toxins. Our agent on the ground confirmed it was only a sedative.” 

“Was the agent his son? What did Alexius get himself into?” Solas asked as he reclined the seat back, putting his hand to his pounding head. 

“Leliana will tell you more,” Stroud said as he put the car in gear. “The son doesn’t want the father to get involved with the Venatori.” 

Alexius had gotten himself into a complicated web of lies and deceit. The Venatori were a secret order of Tevinter fanatics that had attempted several coups. To overthrow the democratic state and restore a mage-only government. Solas had thought the terrorist organization had been disbanded years ago. 

“Sleep,” Clarel barked from the back seat. “We have a long drive ahead.” 

Solas followed her orders without complaint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like impending death to make you realize how much you're crushing?


	21. The One Where Dorian is Verklempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NUG PLUSHIES

**Chapter 21**

Ellana was picking at a sad tray of raw vegetables and hummus when she felt a hand graze her lower back. The touch was intimate yet still polite. Spinning around, she was greeted by Solas winking at her. The rainbow strobe lights flickered over his strong jawline. 

An unrepentant smile flashed on her lips. 

“I thought you would not be attending Professor,” Ellana said, almost bursting at the surprise. She was doing her best to stifle her visible excitement, given the throngs of UofO faculty that passed by in their route towards the dance floor. 

After all, nothing traveled faster than faculty gossip. 

“I landed an hour or so ago and thought I’d come directly here instead of text,” Solas replied in a whisper next to her, appearing to put together his own plate of snacks. A coy smile rose to his lips as she flashed him an unrepentant grin. 

“That is lucky,” She said, biting down on a carrot with a snap. She immediately regretted chewing on something right away, thinking that it was awkward given the situation. If anything, because it prevented her from talking with Solas freely. 

“I admire your commitment to your costume to eat a nug’s favorite food.” 

“Do nugs like carrots?” Ellana absently played with the large felt ears on her head that Dorian had crafted for her costume. 

She might have committed several terrible crimes not to be dressed as a nug at that very moment. Her costume was at least classy, the pale pink of the romper she had purchased fit her perfectly. Only she had applied a thick layer of pink blush and body glitter to look “extra nuggy” at Dorian’s request. She had always picked more subdued costumes, like a witch. 

“A friend of mine keeps pet nugs,” Solas offered by way of explanation, “They love carrots.” 

“Are they good pets?” Ellana asked. She wasn’t sure what to say with Solas right in front of her. If Solas felt similarly, he didn’t reveal any evident emotions.

“No, Schmooples urinates on every available flat surface,” Solas pushed around the vegetables on his plate with a plastic fork with disinterest that Ellana tried not to take personally. 

“Poor Schmooples!”

The music in the background quieted as the soundtrack switched. It had been non-stop noise since the costume contest. Ellana’s head was pounding. Whatever was going around her was not her type of scene. A few rowdy professors dressed as rugby players were throwing floral centerpieces to one another like balls. The water sprayed all over the floor. 

“I understand I missed the costume contest,” Solas asked, his voice warm and eager rather than regretful. “Does that mean Professor Pavus finally achieved--” 

“We did not place at all,” Ellana said grimly. “I’m afraid Dorian has taken it rather badly, and after inhaling these veggies, I was going to find him to see if we could leave.” 

She didn't want to admit that she hadn't had the chance to eat all day and was lightheaded, if anything, as she thought that it might provoke worry in Solas. She wasn't fully committed yet, but she wanted to appear sexy and mysterious, and not a banal everyday creature that needed to regularly consume food. 

“May I help?” Solas asked. 

“We were going to take a rideshare back to his house--” 

“I drove,” He said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. 

“W-would you mind?” 

“Not at all.” 

“Did you want to stay?” Ellana asked nervously. She wasn’t usually so uncertain, but thinking over their last telephone call made her heart flutter with anticipation. 

“Only if you do?” 

Ellana shook the room. It was still early in the evening. The sun had set only an hour or so ago, yet many in the room had already downed enough alcohol that a mob-like dance to overtake the entire faculty body. She did not want to stay and risk any unnecessary trauma encountering her drunken colleagues. It was all ridiculous, and not for the first time, Ellana ruefully thought that her professors in Tevinter would never have conducted themselves as such. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Of course,” Solas took Ellana’s empty plate from her and threw it into the nearby trash can along with his own.

It was a small gesture, but Ellana couldn’t help but think it made Solas even more gallant. He returned a few seconds later, subtly running his fingers along her lower back to escort her past the dance floor. Searching for Dorian would be a good distraction from her impulse to drag Solas into the nearest dark corner and ask him again if he was a “sweet talker.” 

She had attempted to text Dorian. Her messages went unanswered. Solas and Ellana checked every restroom and even investigated the coat check area. Almost giving up hope, the two exited the giant building. The surrounding trees, except for a few stray evergreens, were completely bare. At any moment, it might snow. 

On the University quad ahead, Ellana could make out the shape of the winning costumes surrounded by a crowd of eager students and faculty. A professor in the History department whom she had never met before, Sethius Corypheus, had fashioned an elaborate, fully functioning trebuchet that he could sit in and move around like a small car. Zevran, the reigning champion of the costume contest, had made a matching elaborate Archdemon outfit, with hand-painted fabric and beading that glimmered in the street lamps like slick oil. The two were currently prepping the trebuchet to launch a few projectiles. 

“Are they...?” Solas asked Ellana, his voice trailing off landing somewhere between disbelief and chagrin. 

“Yes, the legendary Siege of Haven.” The obscure historical moment had become a cultural touchpoint after a hit drama had won Best Picture at the Orlesian movie awards. 

Ellana shook her head watching the revelry in the distance, remembering how Dorian had almost fallen off the stage when Corypheus had wheeled the trebuchet into the ballroom, a smoke machine attached to the back made it appear as though Zevran, holding onto the arm, was floating off the ground. The spectacle inspired the entire audience to cheer. None of the judges paid any additional attention to any of the other contestants. She was pretty sure that the judges had picked the other winners at random: a ghost and a clown. Neither costume was clever and had a store-bought look Ellana had found sad. 

Solas and Ellana were about to join the crowd when Dorian called out to them from a bench along the sidewalk. The shirtless mage appeared to be shivering in the cold. His Darkspawn costume consisted of impressive hand-poured bronze horns paired with spandex shorts. The armor was mostly conceptual, a breastplate with elbow and shin guards. The mask, also made by the mage, was sitting discarded on the ground. The ferocious snarl of a Hurlock stared back at Ellana from the weeds. 

Considering how stunning Dorian looked in next to nothing, Ellana thought that they should have placed at least second. 

Dorian thought so too, judging by the way he sat, forlornly looking at the sky, clutching a wine bottle in his arms in the same way one might a small kitten. 

“Would you like to go home?” Ellana asked him in a tender voice. 

“Please! I cannot stand the indignity any longer!” Dorian replied in Tevene, flopping down on the bench with a dramatic sigh.

Solas looked to be doing his best not to laugh. 

“We found ourselves a driver,” Ellana said in her best attempt to be cheerful, switching back to Common. 

“Oh, Solas, your lover returns.” Dorian appraised, also in Common. He gave a small wave to the neurologist, who waved back in a way that made it apparent that he was ignoring the comment. Ellana winced. She didn’t want Solas to thinks he had any expectations. He was private, and she knew he'd bristle a bit at the idea of being gossiped about, even if it was only Dorian. 

“Thank you, Professor Pavos,” Solas said dryly. “Only I don’t think that I can hear you over your outfit.” 

“Really, but you’re always so nondescript,” Dorian jostled. “What is your costume? Stick-up-the-?” 

“Dorian!” Ellana interrupted with a slight hiss. She was relieved to hear Solas laughing heartily rather than take any obvious offense. 

The conversation was interrupted by a roar on the quad. Zevran and Corypheus had successfully set-up the trebuchet to launch a mass of stuffed animal nugs across the yard. A group of costumed spectators ran off after to catch them, some tripping and falling, while others climbed up the sides of the old stone buildings to find those that were caught on the lower roofs. 

“Are you kidding!” Dorian yelled back towards a smirking Zevran. He waved his middle fingers in the air at the whooping elf, who was enthusiastically reciprocating the rude gesture.

The two had dated for a bit before Dorian met Bull. It had been a torrid affair, and one that had ended badly. 

“Alright, let's take you home,” Ellana said, grabbing Dorian by the arm as Solas knelt to pick up Dorian's discarded things. 

The three turned to leave, only for Dorian to cry out when one of the second rounds of nug plushies hit him in the back of his head—falling to the ground with a soft thud. Corypheus was jeering in Tevene, mocking Dorian’s slutty costume.

Ellana thought that Dorian might throw the stuffed animal in the trash as a response. Instead, he had sweetly held the thing in his arms, tenderly petting it the entire car ride to his apartment, drunk and indisposed. 


	22. The One Where Solas Learns to "Hang Out"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen X Millennial Romance?  
> Or Awkward Cereberal Dating?  
> You decide.

**Chapter 22**

Solas had not expected to be invited up to Ellana’s apartment.

After they dropped off a dejected Dorian, Solas thought to suggest dinner or a walk along the harbor. The moment the Tevinter magister exited the vehicle, however, Ellana interrupted with her own proposal. “Would you like to go to Kirkwall? I didn’t know if you had other plans?” 

He found it amusing for Ellana to think he had other plans. Certainly, she meant to only soften her boldness. 

“Spending the evening with you would be lovely,” he assured her, putting the car into gear and turning to make the drive over to the bar. “The Kirkwall it is.” 

The drive was quiet. Solas struggled to find something to say, especially when Ellana had taken out her phone and started texting in earnest. The light from the screen harshly illuminated the rose-colored glitter dusting her face. 

“I’m sorry,” Ellana said as she tucked the square phone away into her purse. “I was breaking the news to Bull that we lost and letting him know Dorian is home. You have my full attention.”

“Do you think it was OK to leave Dorian? He appeared very distraught.” 

He had been so caught up in the idea that he would be able to spend time with Ellana one-on-one, he hadn't thought about Dorian's feelings. 

“Bull’s flight landed an hour ago, and he will be home soon. Besides, Dorian is also the type to want to lick his wounds privately.” 

“It’s a shame he didn’t even place this year. The armor he made was elegant, if perhaps insufficient for battle.” 

Ellana laughed, crossing her arms and turning her body to look at him as he drove. Her hair was down, curled in soft waves falling past her shoulders, and under the thick layer of make-up, he could see the faint lines of her valleslin, twisting as she smirked. Realizing again that he was with her in-person made Solas momentarily struggle to concentrate on the road. 

“I feel a little guilty, as Iron Bull had a matching nug ensemble, shorts and all. The overall effect was much more convincing. I think the judges would have been swayed. They had a planned dance routine, but I pleaded injury.” 

Solas laughed in return, about to ask about the current state of Ellana’s ribs injuries when he stopped himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Solas could see Ellana nervously fidget with the nug ear headband she still wore. The art historian was usually so tranquil that it brightened him a bit to think that she too might be anxious about navigating the evening together. 

When they parked up to the Kirkwall, Solas saw a line of costumed patrons out the door reaching down the street. 

“Oh,” Ellana sighed, “Usually it’s empty.” 

“In Val Royeaux, this is the holiday for artists, I’m sure Varric was happy to oblige such an impulse,” Solas observed, noting how elaborate and creative the outfits were. He spotted several obscure movie characters mixed in with postmodern kitsch-inspired looks, such as a traffic cone and waffle. 

He could hear the music from the tavern as soon as he parked the car. Solas knew that if Varric saw him, that they’d be ushered in right away, only the noise was overwhelming. Truthfully, however, he was relieved when Ellana turned to him and said, “I don’t know if I can do the crowd tonight. That faculty party was out of control.” 

“Do you want to try somewhere else?” 

“No,” she shook her head. It was an abrupt answer. 

For a moment, Solas felt his hope wilt. He was about to admit failure. When Ellana spoke again, her voice was tentative, but her expression was eager “I don’t know, if you might. Perhaps we can hang out at my apartment? We can order take out.” 

“That sounds nice. Only--”

“Everywhere will be packed and crazed,” Ellana calmly pointed out. “I also would love not to be dressed as a nug longer than necessary. Besides, I can show you the proposal Dagna and I put together while you were away.” 

Ellana touched his arm when she had finished talking. The small gesture had thrown Solas off enough that his muttered acceptance had come out as awkward “y-yes.”

Solas knew that the art historian’s generation had different dating norms. He also knew from overhearing his graduate students gossip that the term “hang out” was synonymous with dating. Only, it was a strange sort of dance, without all the wooing that he felt compelled to do for Ellana,

“I’m sorry, I know that this isn’t probably the night you had planned,” Ellana said when they had hopped out of his car with some renewed cheer on the slow walk towards her apartment building. 

“I didn’t have an explicit plan for tonight. I only thought as far as joining you at the party.” 

That was true. He had spent the last three days in an Orlesian safe house recuperating before Stroud had driven him back to Val Royeaux. He was still a bit sore from the jump, but he had been determined to make it in time to meet Ellana at the party. “Don’t be late for the ball,” Leliana had teased him over the phone when he had checked-in with her earlier that evening. 

Ellana nodded thoughtfully. Pulling out her keys from her purse to unlock the front door. She looked away when she spoke, “I understand if you’d rather--”

“No,” Solas boldly insisted, purposefully catching her gaze. “I would enjoy very much to ‘hang out’ with you.” 

He was pleased when he saw the flirtatious glint in Ellana’s eye. The look made him feel as if he was struck dumb, especially when the two hoovered, staring at each other for a few prolonged seconds, flashing two wild smiles. If it wasn’t too soon, he would have stepped forward to pull her into a deep kiss. 

Ellana practically had skipped up the stairs on the way to her studio. Pausing only to briefly wave to her new neighbor “Thom Rainer,” as the burly man went out the back hallway to take out a bag of trash. After she struggled with the lock, the two entered her small apartment. Ellana heading straight for her desk, turning on a reading lamp that softly lit the room. 

Solas wasn’t sure what to expect, or where to sit, considering there was only her bed, and a desk chair, so he stood in the middle of the small apartment, watching as Ellana took off her coat and hung it in the entry closet. He gave her his wool coat when she outstretched her arms with an impatient glare. 

Her expression became nervous again when she stuttered. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower? I’m encrusted in glitter, and one of our drunk colleagues accidentally poured an entire vodka tonic on me shortly before you arrived.” 

“You seem to have a disorienting effect on beverages,” Solas joked, not answering her question. 

The two of them were standing so close together he could smell the earthy scent of lavender and rosemary of Ellana’s perfume. For a moment, Solas thought she might reach out and touch him again, only she stepped back with a grin. 

“Are you suggesting that I am clumsy?”

“Never! One might argue I find you dizzying at times,” Solas admitted in a low baritone, his eyes daring to catch Ellana’s again with a wolfish grin. 

She was clearly pleased by the comment, her hands absently moving to fondle the comically large felt ears she was still wearing. Reminded of her "nug-dom," Ellana snapped back into focus, walking past him to her desk, pulling open her computer and a food delivery website. 

Solas did his best not to gawk at her slender frame in the fitted jumpsuit she wore. It appeared to him more appropriate as a beach cover-up, a small cut out exposing the curve of her lower back. 

“Do you like Antivan? This place is great.” Ellana asked in a sing-song voice, clicking off her order in rapid succession. “Why don’t you pick out what you want, and by the time I’m done de-nugging the order will have arrived.” 

“I do, perfect,” Solas assessed, walking to stand next to Ellana and look down at the screen. He didn't care what they ate. For a moment, he felt a small thrill as Ellana brushed up against him, her fingers touching his as they handled the keyboard together. Solas would have called it an accident, except for how she lingered a few seconds longer than necessary, before bouncing over to her dresser and removing a fistful of black fabric. 

She walked into the bathroom, stepping out for a moment again still in her nug costume to call out, “Oh, should we split dinner? The app has a feature you can do that with if you look when you’re checking out.” 

“If you like,” Solas said, knowing better to argue. Or to point out he knew how to use a delivery app.

He waited until he heard the water running before taking out his credit card, plugging in the numbers for the full amount. He might be uncertain about the etiquette of “hanging out,” however, he was old fashioned enough to pay for dinner. 

He knew that Ellana would protest when she found out. 

Solas would accept his punishment then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a really small detail, but I try to match what words each character would use to their POV
> 
> Ellana is wearing a structured romper--but Solas would have zero clue what a romper was and would call it a jumpsuit.


	23. The One Were Lavellan Insists on a Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netflix & Chill

**Chapter 23**

Ellana turned the shower up past an advisable temperature. The glitter and blush she had applied to her skin was starting to itch. She pulled off her costume, carefully unrolling the sheer pink tights from her legs, and stepped into the shower, standing under the water for an interval before she began the chore of scrubbing off the make-up. Besides, she needed a few moments to gather herself before she joined Solas again. His unexpected presence had left her euphoric. She knew that it would have probably been preferable to go on a more traditional date if that was what was going on, only she hadn’t the heart to hit pause on their evening when the Kirkwall had been mobbed. Nor did Solas demonstrate any reluctance to “hang out.” 

Judging by the way she had caught him looking at her several times, he was more than eager to spend more time with her. 

_Had anyone ever looked at her that way before?_

It wasn’t a lewd stare; no, it was reverential. No one had ever looked at her that way before, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. If she had realized anything in the week-long absence of their texting, that she was a bit spellbound. She was determined, however, not to rush into any premature territory during the evening. Besides, as she had observed, Solas was old fashioned. Even if the rest of the night went well, she didn’t expect him also to attempt a good night kiss, unless she, of course, initiated it. 

She might. 

Running her hands through her hair with shampoo, and then washing her face, she waited until the water ran clear before stepping out, toweling at her skin and hair until she was dry. She had picked out a pair of flowy black shorts with scalloped edges and a wool wrap sweater, the type that ballerinas wore. She had debated, somewhat crassly, if she should have selected some options from the provocative sections of her underwear drawer. Only, she had resisted, choosing a plain matching cotton bralette and hipster briefs. 

Pulling her hair into a messy top knot, she checked her face in the mirror one more time for any errant glitter before exiting the bathroom. 

She found Solas staring at her bookshelf, carefully studying a photograph that had been taken of her and a group of friends on a beach outside of Minrathous. Everyone was in their swimsuit, striking a silly pose. She was wearing a vintage-styled bikini, with a matching swim turban and sunglasses, held up in the arms of two of her male friends. One of whom was, as Cassandra disdainfully called him, “the never-ending ex.” 

“If I had anticipated you were coming over, I might have hidden that picture,” she laughed self-consciously. She wanted to avoid explaining who everyone in the picture was. 

“You must miss your friends.” Solas appraised in a way Ellana found quite caring. 

“Yes, and the beach,” Ellana replied. “Orlais is freezing. It snowed only once the entire time I lived in Minrathous.” 

“I hope you invested in a suitable winter coat,” Solas responded in a clinical voice before moving over to look at her shelf of drawing notebooks. Each was the same size and color, labeled carefully at the corner with the date and year in elegant cursive. 

“Yes, doctor.” She sassed.

“Forgive me, It’s hard not to turn it off,” Solas chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. 

Ellana melted a bit, seeing the dreamy look he gave her. In the dim light of the University ballroom, and the car, she hadn’t noticed how his button-down shirt stretched just so across his fit chest. Nor had she noticed the welcoming laugh lines around his sapphire-blue eyes. 

She wouldn’t say that Solas was traditionally handsome, but he was undoubtedly regal. 

A chime in the breast pocket of Solas’ forest green tweed blazer interrupted Ellana’s thoughts. She plopped on the edge of her bed and watched as Solas pulled out the phone, chatting briefly with the delivery driver before grabbing Ellana’s keys from the top of her desk and stepping out of the hallway, his step echoing as he ran down the stairs. 

Grabbing a few plates from the kitchen, along with cutlery, Ellana surveyed her small apartment. Usually she ate on the floor, or at her desk. She had planned, at some point, to purchase a set of folding chairs and a table for when she had the rare guest over, but hadn’t gotten that far in her to-do list especially considering that she was only starting to feel better the past few days. 

Solas knocked and then entered her apartment, carrying a brown paper sack, laughing good-naturedly when he found Ellana turning in a circle with a hopeless expression on her face. 

“Where do you usually eat?” He asked. 

“On the floor,” Ellana admitted, a flush spreading across her face. “I did not think about this before suggesting take-out.” 

“Relax, this is fun, ” Solas said, gently taking the plates from her hand, gesturing for Ellana to sit down, before joining her on the shaggy rug, crossing his legs, before spreading out several containers on the hardwood floors. Ellana found the whole process strangely sensual, his long fingers elegantly opening each take out container, shoving a spoon into each cardboard package. 

The two chatted a bit about the food, comparing each different pickled vegetable, along with the spicy lemongrass and shrimp salad, which was her favorite. The conversation was easy, and for the first time in months, she felt the stress melt away, listening to Solas’ baritone voice. Before Ellana knew it, Solas insisted on cleaning up after the entire meal, rolling up his sleeves as he washed the plates and packed away all the leftovers into glass containers for later.

Picking up the brown bag to throw in the trash, Ellana found the stapled receipt. Skimming it, she saw that the entire meal had been paid for with a single credit card, the last four digits not matching her own. 

“I thought we were splitting dinner?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe between her living room and the closet-sized kitchen. She couldn’t repress a bossy scowl. 

“Next time,” Solas shrugged. “You know, I’m rather too old to be using apps unchaperoned, so you can’t be too mad. I’m a _hahren,_ after all.” 

“Oh please,” Ellana laughed, stepping away to finish throwing away the greasy bag in the trash can. She fussed a bit, straightening Solas’ blazer hanging off the back of her chair, and scoping a few stray paperclips into a jar, before returning to the kitchen and intently staring at Solas. 

“Yes?” Solas asked, meticulously rinsing off each plate and putting it in the dish dryer. 

“Thank you for dinner.” 

“It was my pleasure.” 

Ellana flashed a coy smile before sauntering over to her bed, sinking onto it with her arms stretched out, listening to Solas whistle as he finished up in the kitchen. Her phone buzzed as Solas walked over, and she opened it to find that Bull had sent her a picture of Dorian, still in his costume, passed out on an enormous sectional, affectionately cradling the stuffed nug on his chest like a newborn baby. It looked like he was snoring. Another text shortly followed the picture. 

**xxx-xxx-1235, Iron Bull. 9:20 p.m.** **  
**I think you broke my husband ;)

From the corner of her eye, she could see Solas sit apprehensively on the edge of the bed, giving himself enough space that he wouldn’t fall, but not so much that he could be considered to be lounging. She tried to tell herself that she hadn't been motivated to sit on the bed as any sort of invitation. 

Sitting-up, Ellana showed him the screen. 

Solas chuckled. 

“He’s going to have such a headache tomorrow,” Ellana said. “Dorian insisted we pregamed a few mimosas while we were getting ready.” 

“You appeared sober when I arrived.” 

“I had two. Mostly orange juice. Dorian had four, almost entirely champagne.” Ellana sighed, shaking her head. “Art Faculty.” 

“Ah,” Solas responded, “To be honest, I understand that the winning costumes were elaborate, but I still am confused about how anyone would have come up with the Siege of Haven as a concept.” 

“Creators, you really are a _hahren.”_

“What?” Solas said defensively. "I’ve been to the archeology site, and there are never any tourists.”

“Yes, but didn’t you see the _Siege of Haven_ two summers ago?”

“The what?” 

“The movie, _Siege of Haven?_ It won several awards. It stared Michel de Chevrin?” 

Solas’ expression grew more bewildered. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t see it! I was living in an artist commune with no indoor plumbing or electricity, and I saw it!” 

“Really?” Solas teased. “I have a hard time picturing that.” 

“Believe it.” 

“You continue to surprise me,” Solas said in an admiring tone. For a second, his gaze lingered over Ellana’s face, following the line of her mouth. She could feel his mana racing around her, buzzing in her ears. Her heart began to pound as he leaned forward a bit, wrapping an arm loosely around Ellana’s waist with just enough pressure to escalate the tension, but not enough to be a clear invitation. 

She wanted him to kiss her. 

“It’s growing late. Perhaps I should leave?” He asked in a melancholic voice. She knew he didn't want to and the offer was only polite. 

Ellana shook her head. She wanted him to say. 

“D-do you want to go?” 

“No, but it might be considered decorous to do so.” 

“I wouldn’t mind putting etiquette aside for a few more hours,” Ellana replied carefully, “Actually, I own the _Siege of Haven_ if you want to watch it.” 

“If you don’t mind?” 

“Stay,” Ellana said decisively, grabbing her laptop and pulling up the file. It was a lengthy movie, but not so long that Solas would leave at too unseemly of an hour. Placing the laptop at the center of the bed, she looked expectantly up at Solas, who seemed uncertain, realizing that she intended for them to watch the movie together on her bed. 

She thought to reassure him that she didn't have any plans for anything but a chaste viewing experience. Only all the explanations she came up with sounded more awkward than simply adjusting a few of the pillows for Solas to have a spot at least an arms-length away from her. 

Solas carefully pulled himself adjacent to her, crossing his arms as the credits rolled. Ellana struggled to pay attention to the opening scene of Michel de Chevrin valiantly riding into Haven on a white steed to warn the town about the impending archdemon attack. 

“You know he’s half-elvhen?” Ellana muttered, inching a bit towards Solas, who extended out his arm again, just enough that so she could lean towards him. 

“I did not,” Solas said, his eyebrows arching with interest, his fingers grazing Ellana’s hip. 

Over the next half-an-hour, the distance between their two bodies grew smaller. By the time the Archdemon arrived, Ellana was shivering and had wrapped herself in the fuzzy blanket she had folded at the end of her bed. Taking the opportunity when she moved to push her body flush against Solas', who responded by firmly putting his arm around her. 

“Is this?” He had asked in a tender voice. 

Ellana responded by burying herself into his chest, placing an open palm over his heartbeat. Her own was pounding as the blood rushed to her head. 

“You’re so warm,” She observed, as Solas grabbed a loose pillow from his side, placing it on his lap, gently guiding her into a more comfortable position, so she could lay entirely on her side as the movie played. Ellana would have been disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her, but the way he sweetly began to stroke her hair as the movie played on, made her feel completely at ease. 

Michel de Chevrin was giving his award-winning monologue about sacrificing himself to save Haven when she began to fight to stay awake. 

She didn’t make it to the end. 


	24. The One Necessary Chapter With Solas & Fade Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An essential scene perhaps?

**Chapter 24**

Solas found himself wandering Haven’s gloomy dungeon. He had fallen asleep during a pivotal scene where Michel de Chevin was breaking out his love interest and accomplice, a witch “of the wilds,” who had been masquerading as a Chantry Sister. Climbing up the stairs, and through the empty nave of the Chantry, Solas recognized he was dreaming by the way the incandescent light surrounding him flickered. When he reached out to touch a heavy velvet tapestry hanging off the wall, there was no sensation except for the one he thought it should have; it was more of an essence than a material. 

He hadn’t experienced a lucid dream in a long time. 

Haven was a strange place to find himself in, but he hypothesized his mind was reflecting the experience of watching the movie. 

Resolving to explore the town, he walked out the doors, struck to find Ellana Lavellan standing in front of him, surveying the placid landscape, a lake reflecting a blue sky, surrounded by evergreen trees. Solas noticed she was wearing the suit she had on the morning they met, a cup of coffee held in her hands. 

“I sat beside you as you slept,” Solas said by way of explanation, even if perhaps there wasn’t one as to why they were dreaming together. Ellana turned to look at him and smiled, two perfect branches tattooed on her high cheekbones. Something about the look in her eyes told him she was not a figment of his imagination, instead that they shared this space. 

_Did Ellana understand the significance of this ability?_

_Unlikely._

“Not for the first time,” Ellana admitted, walking to stand opposite of him. If she realized that the two of them were actively dreaming in unison, she gave no inclination. 

“No,” he chuckled. “Although the circumstances of this evening are much better.”

“Thank you for saving me that afternoon,” Ellana replied. “I haven’t forgotten the time you spent with me in the hospital.” 

“It was frustrating to watch you and be helpless. I had no faith in Morrigan, even if she did not deserve such a harsh appraisal. Really, it was you who held the key to your own salvation.” 

“All it took was a barrier spell. You never know when ordinary magic will save your life.”

“No, you don’t,” Solas replied in a sad voice, for a fleeting second recalling his drop off the cliff edge. He wanted to tell her what he had done to reach her. Only Solas wondered again if she might be able to forgive him the whole story and the small complicit part he had played in her run-in with the Evanurius. 

Ellana did not notice his dispair. Instead, she looked out again at the bucolic surroundings, the small cottages with thatched roofs surrounding them an exact replica of the movie set. She looked so beautiful in the strange sunlight that illuminated her features. He could hear her humming the movie’s soundtrack to herself as she walked a short distance along the gravel road, her pumps floating rather than sinking into a swampy ground. A light dusting of snow appeared, dissipating into dappled rainbow shimmers before it could fall. 

Solas followed after Ellana, only for her to grasp his hand, a static shock echoing out through the atmosphere. He took the opportunity to draw Ellana closer to him, a small flash of pleasure flashed across her face as he clasped her waist. 

“Perhaps, I should flee considering the last time we met this way.” Solas teased, nodding at the cup of coffee, which she chucked over her shoulder. 

There was no sound of the cup hitting the ground; it had simply vanished into the ether. 

“Where would you go?” She asked curiously, two playful hazel eyes staring up at him. 

“A joke. That morning when we met, I felt the whole world change.” 

“Felt the whole world change?” Her voice was like honey, thick with anticipation as she repeated his words back to him like a melody. 

“A figure of speech,” Solas said, glancing away. He was nervous about what the dream might reveal to Ellana about himself. Although he felt cogent, the Fade made it hard to keep emotions and thoughts to oneself. Solas wasn’t trying to keep his feelings for her a secret. Only the vulnerability made him uncomfortable. He was, after all, a private person.

“I’m aware of the metaphor, I’m more interested in the _felt.”_

“You change- _-everything_.” He interrupted her, unable to keep his words in. 

“Sweet talker.” 

Solas recalled the way her voice had tantalized him when she had asked him if he was one over the phone. 

He wanted to kiss her, and was about to lean forward, when he felt Elana’s touch, like a breeze, across his cheek as she drew him in for a kiss. Yearning filled the air, as her lips found his. It was everything, even without the concrete sensations of warmth of the waking world. Haven melted away. 

Solas was lost to Ellana; in the Fade and any other place and time. 

Stepping back to gather his breath, he saw Ellana shake her head, a downcast look flashing over her face. Her embarrassment hit him like a wave of steam. Red and bright. 

Quickly, Solas pulled her back towards him, determined to show her how he felt. His first caress was polite, but as they lingered, he found it impossible not to deepen each subsequent kiss, determined to show her how much he cared for her.

How much he wanted her. 

Ellana softly moaned when Solas swept his tongue between her lips. Her shudder ringing in his ears like a warm song. Her fingers wandered down his shoulders and lower back, a light pressure that tickled his skin. 

Gradually, the kisses grew more hungry and reckless. Solas worried that he had gone too far when his hands gripped the roundness of her ass in a way that was not appropriate for a first date. Nor, perhaps the third.

“We shouldn’t. Not here.” He gently cautioned, drawing carefully back to look at Ellana. 

“What do you mean even here?” 

“Where do you think we are?” Solas teased. 

“This isn’t real?” Ellana searched, glancing around nervously. It appeared to Solas it was the first time she realized that she might be dreaming. 

“That is a matter of debate. Probably best discussed after you wake up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to alter the scene to fit this fanfic, so its not a perfect fit (no Breach?), but, things are heating up. 
> 
> p.s. my partner decided Solas' spy-games had to make Solas tougher so I edited the escape scene so that he got to do a little bit more cool action attacks.


	25. The One Where Lavellan Wakes Up Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To elven glory, or not elven glory. That is the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading and commenting. I've been so appreciative of all the comments, and am doing my best to churn out content.

**Chapter 25**

The dream had been so real. Yet it could not compare to what followed moments after Ellana woke in Solas’ arms. Her chest fluttered with anticipation when she saw Solas’ sapphire eyes gazing back at her. Reaching to stroke the line of his lips, she shuddered when he sensually kissed her fingertips. From another man, the gesture might have been mawkish, but everything Solas did was graceful. 

Ellana could tell by the way that Solas guided her towards him that he was mindful of her still fractured ribs. It was a marvel to her, how gentle the pressure of his touch was in comparison to the desperate look he gave her. 

His tenderness made her like him more. 

Without hesitation, Ellana bridged the distance between them. She could feel Solas’ smile on his breath with her first polite kiss. Soft and wet, as soon as he pressed his lips to hers, the heat buzzed on her skin. 

She was vaguely aware of Solas’ clicking her laptop closed and pushing it far enough away not to impede them stretching out onto the center of the bed. She was more focused on the way the fabric of his pants rubbed on her bare skin as their legs grew more entangled. 

Ellana could kiss Solas forever, and it would be enough. Each small sweep of his tongue against hers--every time he discovered a sensitive spot of her neck and lavished kisses upon it until she shuddered—was thrilling.

Ellana liked the way Solas twined his fingers through her hair and the subtle scent of cedar and fresh laundry that clung to him. She liked how his thumbs sensually ran the length of her spine, kneading the top of her thighs underneath her shorts, teasing the edges of her underpants. She felt as if she was being pushed out of her body with each touch. It was a new feeling. 

She was about to wrap her legs around his hips and rock against him when Solas drew gently back, returning to sit at the edge of the bed, watching her with an expression of wonder that made her feel self-conscious and a bit overwhelmed. 

“I’m sorry that was impulsive and ill-considered,” he breathed abruptly. 

“Solas, I-I thought you felt the same,” Ellana said, her voice wavering. She was embarrassed. 

“No--oh, Ellana. I only meant that I would have preferred to ask you out to dinner properly.” 

“That’s old fashioned, _hahren,”_ she teased with mock outrage. “What if I was planning on doing the asking.” 

“Then I rescind my invitation. You may ask me if you wish.”

“When?” She asked. 

“Tomorrow?” he said with a sly grin, sitting- up on the edge of the bed, smoothing his clothes. “Is that too soon? Next week?”

Ellana stepped off the bed, standing in front of Solas, grinning as his hands wrapped around her waist. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against his before whispering, “Tomorrow, please.” 

“Seven in the evening?” Solas asked, doing his best to ignore when her mouth returned to kissing the edge of his strong jawline, moving upwards to hook her lips on and suck his earlobe. Ellana knew it was considered unwise to move this quickly, but she couldn’t help herself. She had never wanted someone so badly before. A small moan escaped Solas’ lips, and Ellana found it difficult not to slip her hands underneath his shirt or to unbutton it. 

Solas was also struggling to stay composed, his grip on her hips tightening and loosening as if he were debating throwing her on the bed and taking her. Her mind flashed through half-a-dozen different justifications as to why he should. The two stood frozen, breathing heavily. 

“Regretfully, I think I should leave before we become carried away,” Solas said in a pained voice. 

Ellana nodded. She knew it was for the best. 

“A little longer,” Ellana begged, leaning forward. She kissed Solas once, chastely. And then again with a reserve of heat that she didn’t know she possessed. 

They were playing with fire right now, and both knew that if Solas stayed even a few more minutes, their self-restraint would not endure. 

“Oh, Ellana,” Solas groaned in a voice that made her tremble. “The feel of you, you are perfect. I thought the dream--”

Ellana kissed him again with a fervor until she processed what he had said. She usually remembered her dreams and could recall walking through the town of Haven when she had fallen asleep. Ellana had thought it was coincidental that Solas had appeared there. After all, they had been watching the _Siege of Haven_ together. Only, now that she was awake, and replaying the memory of their encounter, there was something different. 

Solas had been dreaming in unison with her. 

He _could_ dream with her. That possibility seemed so absurd and unreal. Ellana had resolved to but his polemic of her book behind them. Only, if he could lucidly, then why had she attacked her methods with such vitriol. It was one thing if it was an academic difference, but it seemed to Ellana that the neurologist had knowingly undermined her work, despite having the same capabilities. 

Perhaps he wasn’t aware he could do such a thing? 

“Wait, the dream? In Haven?” She asked, careful to keep her voice level. Ellana didn’t want to accuse him outright. 

“Yes,” Solas replied in a distracted voice, before attempting to tug her body towards his, only to realize midway through what he had admitted to. His dreamy expression transforming into sadness. 

“Wait, So if we were dreaming together. That means that--you’re like me?” 

“I--I would not go that far.” 

“I don’t claim to understand very much about magic, but we were both in the same dream. There has to be some explanation for that.” 

Ellana’s mind was clouded with doubt. It helped her to repeat the facts out loud. 

Solas nodded, his face darkening. Underneath his sad expression, Ellana could see his eyes turn uncertain. It appeared as if he was sorting through his memories, trying to find the right words to say. Or, as some worried part of her thought, deceive. 

“So when you wrote that book review, you knew that you could lucidly dream.”

Solas didn’t answer her. He was wincing. Ellana thought his expression looked remorseful.

“I was willing to put your judgments about my book aside. After all, your polemic made some points I should have considered given my qualitative methodology. Only--it doesn’t seem to me as if that was the case. You _lied._ ” 

“Ellana, I--I.” 

“Tell me, then, why you wrote the review. This doesn't seem like you.”

Her tone was more insistent than angry. Mostly, she wanted to understand. 

"It is complicated," Solas said, not making eye contact as he made the excuse. 

"Then this is too complicated," Ellana stopped, waving her outstretched hand back and forth between their two bodies. "Please. Solas, explain to me why you wrote the review." 

"I c-can't," Solas replied, his mournful voice that broke her heart to hear. 

"Then we can't," Ellana said, adding force to each syllable, as she shook her head, walked to the closet and took out Solas' coat. She had zero regrets tossing it onto the bed next to him given his refusal to be forthright. 

Solas pulled on his jacket. Clenching his eyes as he adjusted the collar. As much as Ellana was angry, a wave of empathy overtook her. She could tell that Solas was suffering as much as she was by the way he stiffly walked towards her apartment door. 

"I'm sorry, truly, Ellana," Solas said, turning back for just a second. 

"Professor Fen'Harel," Ellana snapped, her patience was gone. "Forgive me, I became too carried away in our acquaintance. Unless circumstances change, I might remind you that I prefer Dr. Lavellan." 

"Of course, Dr. Lavellan," Solas responded as she slammed the door in his face, making a point to loudly click the deadbolt behind him. 

For an hour after Solas left Ellana sat frozen on the floor in the center of her apartment, glaring at the pink and blue shapes in her mottled area rug. She hoped that Solas might call her once he had time to think, offering some sort of logical rationale to explain his behavior. 

He didn't. 

She tried not to let her rage overcome her as she took another long shower, letting the steam fill the bathroom, as she attempted to soothe herself. 

Mostly, she wanted to wash Solas' scent off her skin. 

Somewhere between putting her pajamas on and crawling into bed, Ellana began to cry.

It was an ugly sound. Nor was it entirely about Solas.

Ever since she had moved to Val Royeux, things had oscillated between bad to worse. Her colleagues had, on the whole, rejected her. She had been attacked and now had security following her around twenty-four hours, seven days a week. And now, Solas. For the past three weeks, texting with him had made her euphoric. _Creators, the way he had touched her--_

Only like everything the Orlesians loved the connection between Ellana and Solas had been superficial. 

_Artifice and bullshit._

For the second time that night, Ellana was uncharacteristically impulsive. 

She pulled out her phone. Staring at the black screen for a time before hitting the power button. 

She knew that she was welcome to call him anytime. That was part of the problem. 

_Unless he had gotten a new number?_ After all, they hadn't spoken for over a year-and-a-half. 

She hit the buttons slowly to give her the opportunity to retreat.

Each beep reminded her what a bad idea it was. 

Old habits and all that. 

Ellana didn't care. 

The phone rang, and a familiar husky voice greeted her. 

"Lala?" 

Ellana couldn't respond, her chest was heaving as she sobbed into the receiver. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" 

"I--I'm sorry to reach out like this so suddenly," she said slowly. "I-I needed a friend. I moved to Val Royeux." 

"Cassandra told me."

"It has been awful."

"Oh, La. I'm always here for you--if you need it--did you want to talk?" 

Before she knew it, the whole unrelenting story tumbled out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put it out there that Solas is the type of person who will put your expensive laptop out of the way prior to making out.  
> Sorry, I think I might have broken some hearts here after so much fluff--but it's never going to be easy between these two. 
> 
> ANYWAY IN THE NEXT EXCITING STORY ARC, WE WILL FINALLY KNOW WHO THE MYSTERY EX LOVER IS. 
> 
> WHO COULD IT BE. whoooooooo.


	26. The One Where Solas Talks About the Brain (& the Fade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> big cerebral energy.

**Chapter 26**

Solas was wrapping up a journal article called _Clinical and MRI phenotypes of Fade-Divergent Neural Processing_ at his kitchen table when he heard a knock at the door. There was only one person in all of Thedas he knew that could successfully evade the excessive security of his apartment building and make it to his door without setting off a half-dozen alarms: The Nightingale. 

He had been avoiding Leliana since his last mission. It was a tad passive-aggressive, but the experience of walking into a Venatori trap and being forced to jump over a cliff edge had left him feeling a bit sour, especially after airing his concerns with the spymistress before departure. There had been a few awkward phone calls between the two, but overall, Solas was ignoring his obligations to the Inquisition. _Whatever those commitments were._

Solas walked over, keying in the code to open the door and allow her in. 

He was greeted by a chastened-looking Leliana, wearing her usual aubergine tracksuit. She was holding a large bottle of Antivian red wine Solas recognized as both very hard to find, as well as expensive. He couldn’t help but appreciate the peace offering. It would be good to clear the air. 

Truthfully, his friend’s unexpected visit brought him a sense of relief. It had been a week since Solas had fled Ellana’s apartment in the middle of the night. Solas couldn’t count how many times he had taken out his phone, and thought about calling Ellana, only every explanation he came up with either seemed outlandish or put the scholar in further danger. 

Leliana was the only person Solas could ask for advice. 

“May I come in?” She asked. Her voice was light, but Solas knew the spymistress well enough to detect a hint of remorse. 

“Please” Solas replied, gesturing for her to sit down on the living room couch while he walked to the kitchen to retrieve two wine glasses and a corkscrew. It wasn’t until after the bottle was opened and a generous glass had been poured for them that the two old war buddies began to talk.

“I should have listened to you about Alexius,” Leliana admitted. “I underestimated him.” 

“Yes. Yes, to both.” 

“I am sorry.” 

“I accept your apology,” Solas replied a tad bit more coldly than he intended. 

“I-I wanted to also,” Leliana’s voice trailed off. “This is a bit awkward. I don’t want you to think I’m surveilling your activity _that_ closely.” 

“Yes?” Solas was certain Leliana was going to ask about Ellana. 

“Agent Blackwall, who, as you know, is stationed in Dr. Lavellan’s apartment building, saw you leave last week, late at night. He--well, he was worried you looked upset. I wanted to ask--”

“You are correct. Things _did not_ go well. I expect you are here to lecture me on the complexity of mixing our work with personal matters.” 

“Solas, I-I. No, actually. I thought you might need a friend.” 

“You might change your mind now that she knows I’m a dreamer.” 

“What! How?” Leliana sounded more concerned than annoyed.

Solas summarized the shared dream in Haven, excluding several specific interludes of how he and Ellana had passed the time. That was easy enough to guess. He knew the pain in his voice was evident, and he made no effort to hide it. When he finished, Leliana had leaned back, her expression thoughtful. Solas knew enough not to interrupt her before she was ready. The spymistress was a strategic creature, managing a Gordian knot of information and subterfuge. Sometimes it took her a few minutes to sort through her mental files before arriving at a succinct answer. 

Her assessment was unexpected. 

“You’re falling in love with Dr. Lavellan. It would be easier if you weren’t.” 

“That is a tad hyperbolic, don’t you think?” 

Solas tried to stifle a sigh. He knew that his feelings for Ellana were strong. Calling it love was premature. He did, however, have to recognize the effect that the art historian had on him in a short amount of time since he had found her struggling that morning to locate her classroom. He had barely slept since leaving her apartment. Anytime he paused, he was gripped by memories of her anger. 

It had been bearable when she had simply hated him outright. Now that he knew she reciprocated his feelings, it was true heartbreak. 

_Creators, the way it felt to touch her._

“Telling her the truth only puts her in more danger--all of Thedas into danger— after all, if she is captured and aids the Evanurius--willingly or not—.” Leliana pondered out loud, refilling Solas’ glass almost to the brim before topping off her own. 

Solas shuddered. The thought of Ellana captured frightened him in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. 

“Only, if I don’t, there is no hope of us ever being together.” 

“Do you want to be in a relationship? With Andruill roaming around Thedas, she could show up at your door any moment--being with Dr. Lavellan means opening a lot of potential wounds.” 

“It is difficult to say. I-I have never felt this way about someone. She is a rare and marvelous spirit. As you say, however, there are risks.” 

“I’m sorry Solas, I did not ever anticipate such circumstances when I messaged you that book.” 

“An Andrastian like yourself might argue it was fate.”

“And the Elves?”

“The will of nature purifying my misdeeds through punishment. Or offering me the opportunity to correct them. Fate is more pluralistic in that pantheon.” 

“What will you do?” Leliana asked, relaxing into the plush sofa. 

“I was hoping you might have a suggestion.” 

“Help me bring Andruill to justice. Then, we can locate the Orb once and for all, tuck it safely away--.” 

“That is quite the ordeal you are asking of me, Leiliana.”

“Solas,” Leliana said, her voice uncharacteristically emotional, “I need your help. Y-you are the only one who _knows_ the Evanuris this well. Who knows how they operate. Who would know what to do with the Orb--” 

“Somewhat ironically, Dr. Lavellan’s research might be more useful here. She is perhaps the only other scholar who has similarly explored such concepts through reconstructing how the ancient elves melded their lives to the Fade through the artifacts they built and the rituals they performed with them.” 

“Her scholarship seems helpful for understanding the historical record, but--” 

“I think the mistake that many scholars--scientists and art historians alike--often make is that they don’t recognize how closely aligned the brain is to the works it produces. One could argue that artists manipulate--or amplify--the variability of the brain in the objects and images they craft. Think of paintings or sculptures as a subjective MRI machine. I’m skeptical that the ancient elves were actively thinking of neural correlates of the objects they made but--”

“Only most of the artifacts that are left respond directly to willpower and magic.” Leliana finished for him, “Like the Eluvians. Think where you want to go, and the Eluvian will take you there!” 

Solas chuckled a bit to himself. He knew Leliana had several pristine Eluvians in secure storage; their abilities secreted away except for a few elite members of the government. She had shown him one once, allowing him to activate it with his magic. If the public knew that the broken shards and frames they saw in museums had intact and functional cousins, there would be mass outrage. 

“Correct. What makes her scholarship so interesting is not what it means only for the waking world, but also understanding of the Fade. By identifying the purposes of an Elvhen artifact, Dr. Lavellan determines how the Fade worked not only in the past, when magic was stronger, but also how it might be used in the future, should the effects be reversed. She might not be interested in solving those problems, but such answers are there at her fingertips." 

Solas held up his empty glass and then the bottle. Seeing that there was no wine left, he stood up again, walking over to the wine cellar in the kitchen, pulling out one of his more luxurious reserves before walking out with two more full glasses. 

“So, how does this relate to the Orb?” Leliana asked, nodding her thanks for another serving of wine. 

“From what I understand, the foci was made to allow the wielder to shape, physically, the immaterial elements of the Fade and make them material--and vice versa--It isn’t so much the potential to tear down the Veil, but to maximize the mind’s potential to bridge the Fade and the physical world simultaneously together. More about proximity than absolutes. Rather poetic if you think of it, an alignment of nature and its forces in perfect harmony. Very Elvhen." 

“So it has an infinite number of possibilities as far as magic is concerned?” 

“If one had the correct primer, then that could be presumed. Or perhaps more accurately, the right mind to envision such things.” 

“And if magic vanishes?” Leliana appeared deep in thought. 

“Then, the Orb might not do much for you." Solas paused before continuing, "The threads of both worlds are needed to activate it.” 

“Where do you think the Orb went? It has been so many years since I thought of it--” 

“There are legends, of course. The King of the Elves and all that. It was present when Arlathan fell--the ancient one--not the modern-day revival. If you read some of the stories carefully, it sounds like it might have even played a part in the Elves’ undoing. Its origin story doesn’t sound quite unlike a modern physicist’s desire to tear an atom apart. You'd have to find an art historian or archeologist to tell you where it went after that. Maybe Halamshiral?" 

“An art historian who specializes in elven artifacts?” Leliana teased. “You know there are only three. One of whom you are acquainted with.” 

“This is a dark comedy,” Solas mused, taking a deep glug of his wine. The alcohol was starting to go to his head. “There is meaning in everything if you know where to look for it. A shame to think that humans never thought that elves had much value, or they might have kept better records. Only perhaps, that is a twist of Andrastian fate, such negligence keeps us from imminent destruction.”

Leliana was silent, sitting across from Solas. His head felt dizzy. A thought came to him. One he had kept to himself for over a decade. 

_It was time to confess._

“Leliana, I’ve never told you this before.” 

Solas took a sip of his wine, swirling the liquid in the soft fluorescent light in his living room. 

“Yes, Solas” Leliana's voice sounded bored. That was about to change. 

“I can confirm that the Orb of Destruction is real.” 

“How?”

“I’ve seen it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm riffing off neuroaesthetics here, only with magic (the Wikipedia article on the subject gives a pretty good basic overview of the subdiscipline). Such are the wonders of fanfiction. Not only can you undo cultural touchstones, but the very foundations of actual physics! 
> 
> If you want to get real nerdy, I don't accept all the tenants of neuroaesthetics--especially around weird conventions about what beauty can be conceived of as--but I like the idea that art is a way to think of how the brain works. If you add in the Fade (spirits in the Biowhere universe) it sort of makes sense. So in the video game spirits are one thing in the Fade--and another in the physical world. Only, perhaps with less corruption in this AU? 
> 
> I think of the modern manifestation of the elven pantheon of being very Shinto-like in practice and belief. The elven pantheon had to have a bit of rearranging since the Evanurius is a modern-day crime syndicate in this fanfic.
> 
> Mostly, this is the chapter where if the other companions were there, they would roll their eyes and be like "Solas why are you always talking about the Fade."


	27. The One Where Cassandra Prays to the Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is the never ending ex?

**Chapter 27**

A week after Solas had left her apartment in the middle of the night Ellana still had a stomach ache. She had buried herself in work, but her mind kept replaying memories of that evening.She felt like such a fool. It was her least favorite feeling. 

When Cassandra had called her asking if she might have the afternoon free to help her pick out paint colors for her new condo, she jumped at the chance to leave behind her writing and lesson planning for a short interval. She had woken up early, attempting to tackle her backlog, but had ended up staring at the moon photograph she had pinned up over her desk instead, playing moody music in the background. 

It would be good to take a break and focus on something concrete and immediate. Besides, Ellana much preferred picking out finishings than mulling over the merits of the Andrastian middle ages. 

“I can’t believe you called _him_.” Cassandra sighed as she held up several shades of violet with names like “blackberry cobbler,” “eggplant drizzle,” and “plum fantasy.” 

“Any of those would work for the bathroom,” Ellana observed, ignoring her friend’s interrogation. “What color fixtures do you have, gold or silver?”

“I’m sorry things did not work out with the doctor,” Cassandra consoled, refusing to be distracted, picking up a fistful of gray squares to pair with plum fantasy.

“Oh, Cass, I feel awful.” Ellana admitted, putting her hand up to her forehead, her voice trailing off, “I can’t believe I didn’t expect Solas…” 

Ellana paused, picking up a paint roller to have a focus for her anxiety. She ran her fingers over the fuzzy tube. She had a hard time putting to words how significant of a betrayal it had been. It was almost impossible to articulate to a non-mage. So she hadn’t told Cassandra about the shared dream--or that part of the issue was that she hadn’t realized it was plausible, yet Solas apparently had. 

“I know you’re not telling me the whole story, Lala,” Cassandra uttered in a quiet voice, shaking her head. “I’m not asking you to.” 

Ellana’s hands wandered back to the paint chips. She picked up a midnight blue shade that she thought matched her melancholy. She didn’t want to talk about Solas anymore. It hurt.

A lot more than Ellana expected.

“I don’t want to defend this doctor,” Cassandra interrupted, “Only, as you said in the car ride, the whole situation seemed out of character for him. Are you sure there isn’t any explanation of why he wrote the review?”

Ellana also hadn’t told Cassandra about their recent text exchange. She had been hopeful throughout the week that Solas might call her--or even come to her office--but she hadn’t heard from him. That afternoon the two professors should have been meeting to work on the exhibition. She had checked her email several times the night before thinking he might cancel. 

Ellana had gone to bed, determined simply not to show up. Ever responsible. However, she had relented to texting Profesor Fen’Harel that morning. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 7:30 a.m.**

I think that it might be best to postpone our meeting today

**xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen-Harel 7:32 a.m.**

That seems wise, Dr. Lavellan--S.

Ellana thought that would be the end of it until he texted several minutes later. She felt hopeful when she picked up the phone to see another alert from Solas. Ellana was disappointed he would not further illuminate what motivated his actions.

 **xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen-Harel 7:41 a.m.** **  
****  
** Dagna can work with you on this project going forward if you prefer --S.

Ellana guessed that the offer was meant as a goodwill gesture, a concession to make her feel more comfortable. However, it upset her to think that Solas might not want to see her again. The rejection stung. 

“None that he was willing to share,” Ellana replied to Cassandra absently, moving her hand over the bristles of the roller again. The sensation was calming, even if it might be a little childish to find it to be so. 

Ellana gazed up at her friend, who was giving her an anxious look that she had seen only once before in their decade of friendship. The last time she had received it was when she had gotten together with the “neverending ex” for the second time shortly after she moved to Minrathous for graduate school. In her defense, it was also the last time. She was at least smarter, not to repeat that mistake. 

“I know you are worried that I called the ‘neverending ex,’ Just underneath the occasional bluster, we were always very supportive of one another.” 

“Yes, that was not ever the issue,” Cassandra admitted. ‘I’m sorry, I know that things were complicated, but--”

“Yes, we both learned that we are better friends than lovers. I don’t think you have to worry about part three of the ‘co-dependent saga’ as you call it.” 

“Please, you two didn't _end_ anything.” 

“We’ve seen other people.” Ellana insisted with a roguish grin. “Some of us more than others.” 

“And then spent summers together. You might not have been a couple, but you might well as have--” 

“I was writing my dissertation, the rent was free, _and_ I stayed in my own cabin on the artist commune. I seem to recall you also visiting us, having a wonderful time. As you know, from first-hand observation, the bulk of those summers were platonic.” 

Although most weren’t. Ellana suppressed the memories of nights spent under the open sky love-making as the surrounding sea of grass moved like a thousand ribbons in the wind. Cassandra was a tad overwrought, her former lover, and she had accepted their differences long ago. Their relationship had died, not in an explosion as the prosecutor liked to think, but rather like a dwindling bonfire. 

A potpourri of different knobs and hardware next to the paint chips captured Ellana’s attention. Cassandra’s disapproving sigh distracted Ellana from picking up a fire-glazed knob that she thought might look nice on her dresser. 

“I don’t mean to scold you. I want you to be happy, my friend. I've been worried about you--the attack, the heartbreak.” 

Ellana reached out and squeezed her friend’s arm, who waved her away. She was appreciative of her friend's advice even if she felt that Cassandra was a little overbearing. She didn’t have many friends as close or as steady. For the next few minutes, they sorted through several books of paint chips, landing on a blend of violets and creams that Ellana recommended would "catch the light nicely throughout the day." 

Turning to the overloaded aisles for additional supplies, Ellana took up their conversation again. 

“I hope you can be just as understanding when I tell you he’s coming next week and staying through the end of the semester.” 

That had been an offer freely given; her ex was willing to make the ride, and stay with her simply because she needed a friend. 

“Oh, Ellana,” Cassandra responded. She was stressfully stuffing the shopping cart with several boxes of paintbrushes and pans, packing it full of many more supplies than she needed to paint a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath condo. It was clear that Ellana was vexing her. 

“You are usually so rational,” Cassandra continued, shaking her head, “Always following the rules, and then you do something like this.” 

“He told me you’ve talked to him several times over messenger.” Ellana pointed out. She intended it to be more of a justification as to why Cassandra should be supportive of the plan, rather than an accusation that she was a bit of a hypocrite to condemn Ellana spending time with her ex. 

“He and Gaylen are friends.”

“Yes, and how many times have you two broken up and gotten back together! Now you are finally in the same place, moving in together--” Ellana argued. It was a little unfair given the circumstances of Cassandra, and Gaylen’s break ups were usually due to managing long distance and two high profile careers in the law. 

“Yes, well. Whatever this co-dependent mess we are walking into is, at least Gaylen will be happy to see him. The two can--do whatever it is that they do when--what do they do?” 

“Go joyriding on the motorcycle?” Ellana laughed. “Gaylen likes anything that makes him feel cool. And well, as you’ve said time and time again,’ neverending-ex’ is a bit of a dreamy bad boy.” 

Cassandra’s long term partner, a public defender, was just as square as the Nevarran woman. However, he did fancy himself a bit of a rogue. 

“Ugh,” Cassandra exclaimed, issuing another disgusted sigh. “They better wear helmets this time.” 

“Cass,” Ellana declared in a high-pitch voice, her eyes widening.

“Yes,” Cassandra shook her head, beginning to push the cart towards the check out aisle, waving for Ellana to follow “You are about to ask me something annoying. I know that look.” 

“Can you not make it weird this time or cross-examine him like he's a criminal. Its--” 

“I am a prosecutor, Ellana,” Cassandra responded dryly, slamming several paintbrushes on the conveyor, her announcement causing the teenage cashier to raise their eyebrows in alarm, unsure if the comment was meant for him, or a threat. Her voice remained terse the entire time she ordered the paints mixed for pick-up later that week. 

When everything was fully loaded everything into the car and gotten, Cassandra despondently laid her head against the steering wheel before turning the car on. 

“Who am I to question the will of the Maker?” the prosecutor lamented. 

“That’s not a disproportionate response,” Ellana replied sarcastically, popping her sunglasses on, smoothing her hair back, and applying a layer of her usual matte coral lipstick.

Ellana was done with feelings for the afternoon.

If not for the rest of the year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a Cassandra in their life.


	28. The One Where Solas Visits His Favorite Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real hero of this chapter is Dagna.

**Chapter 28**

Solas avoided campus. One week turned into two; two weeks turned into three.

He had barely slept since the evening he had fled Dr. Lavellan’s apartment in the middle of the night. Some of his insomnia was grief. Mostly, he thought dreaming might cause him to show up in another of Ellana’s dreams. How would he account for such a phenomenon? 

Solas had read as much as he could about the ancient dreamers, called _sominari_ in Tevene. For years he had sought out obscure texts with disintegrating pages. He found cryptic notes about arcane rituals and herbs used to bring on trances and visions--but not much concrete information on what _sominari_ did. Not knowing the discrete limits of the powers made him shaky. 

Over the last decade, he speculated he might even be the last _sominari_ in living memory. Until he read Dr. Lavellan’s book that is.

Understanding that dreams mirrored the actions of the real world, Solas buried his mind in work. The more paperwork, patient appointments, and lab reports, the better. His calendar was overbooked with extra shifts at the hospital. He even willingly endured several of Leliana’s intense brainstorm sessions at Inquisition headquarters, a chore he had shunned mainly over the last decade. 

To evade campus even further, Solas’ research students working in the campus lab were forced to make the trek on public transportation to report their findings. It wasn’t an arrangement without precedence, depending on the ebb and flow of his schedule. Solas was painfully aware it was not his proudest moment as an instructor, even if his students might not be conscious of his sulking,

Until he perfected his explanation, Solas thought it unwise to risk running into the art historian. Solas wanted to put his hubris aside, drive over to Ellana’s apartment, and tell her the whole truth. Only he remained indecisive about what to say. Solas had made several charts and diagrams in one of his graph paper notebooks, attempting to map how Ellana would react to what he had to say. So far, no projections ended well. 

He was pessimistic that any justification would mend the rift that lay between him; until then, he deliberated. 

The endless cycle of frustration and doubt made him increasingly sour. 

Dagna intervened when Solas sent students back to the lab in tears, his angry red pen tearing into their dissertations with meticulous line-by-line edits. It wasn’t that his strict approach was unexpected; only he had been dismissive and impatient. Solas felt guilty for behaving like the colleagues he faulted for not taking the time to guide and mentor their students. It wasn't enough, however, to motivate him to pretend. 

“Out of character,” the Dwarf had gently brought up to him as he slunk into his office chair. He didn’t even bother to look up from typing notes, “Is how Jana reported that meeting. She said you wouldn’t let her speak to clarify any of her points. She also said the condescending voice you used when talking to her felt worse than being yelled at.” 

“The research was subpar,” Solas had defended himself. “Incorrect experiments put lives at risk.” 

Dagna, wearing a chunky homemade scarf over her white lab coat, surveyed his hospital office. It wasn’t as pleasant as his campus post, a dark room with no windows, covered in charts. He hated it there. 

“Where is the chair in your office usually reserved for student meetings?” She asked, referring to one of the felt chairs she had purchased for students to feel more welcomed when they reviewed materials with him. 

“I thought it would make meetings run more efficiently if the individual stood to deliver their findings.” 

“OK, professor. What is going on?” Dagna signed, “Everyone is walking around you as if on eggshells. You look terrible. Did a consulting job go badly again?” 

Dagna looked up at Solas eagerly, her large blue eyes warm and attentive. He had not always found Dagna’s sunny and forward disposition favorable. The first week she worked in the lab, she had followed him around chatting almost nonsensically, small drops of coffee falling on the floor from a mug she carried as she ambled around. Dagna had won him over, however, when she had pointed out how he had incorrectly read an MRI report, and then again when her interference for anything emotional helped smooth several longstanding issues with his students and colleagues. 

“Among other things,” He admitted. 

For all her sass, Dagna was respectful of his need for privacy. His assistant would never bring up his strife with Dr. Lavellan, even if Solas suspected she was acutely aware of the animosity that existed. Dagna had brought up the exhibition several times, asking for approval on Ellana’s requests. He had waved her away, Unable to speak about the matter directly. 

Eventually, Dagna stopped asking. 

“Do you think you should take a day off--maybe more than one--you’ve been working _a lot_ of overtime,” Dagna suggested in a voice that made it clear that even if he protested, he’d show up at the hospital to a cleared schedule. 

“There are at least half-a-dozen...”

“How about tomorrow afternoon?” Dagna said in a forceful tone that made it clear she was not asking. 

“Fine,” Solas said, pulling off his reading glasses and setting them down on the desk. “If you break one of the machines again, however, I will be very cross.” 

Dagna giggled, picking up and sorting the charts that were in disorderly piles on every available surface. A few minutes later, Solas found a glass of hot water with a lemon slice in it. He didn’t remember his assistant leaving it there. 

_A day off?_ Solas couldn’t remember the last time he had elected to take a day off. Occasionally, Dagna would clear off a week, usually around the holidays. One time he had even showed up to see that she had used his personal credit card to book a trip to an Antivan resort. Another time, she sent him to Denerim to tour the old town and the surrounding vineyards. 

He was unsure where he would go that morning, only to realize that he hadn’t been to the Modern Art Museum for some time. When he first moved to Val Royeaux, he visited almost every week enjoying the innovative exhibition programming. He finished up a round of patient check-ups in the morning and set out in a cab. Afterward, maybe he’d read a newspaper at one of the sidewalk cafes, sipping on a glass of red wine. 

Walking through the sun-lit atrium of the museum brought Solas instant tranquility. The large floor to ceiling windows led into a sculpture garden he spent an inordinate amount of time exploring. He always enjoyed the sizable split-open rock sculptures overgrown with twisting vines. The intention, he knew, from the artist whose name Solas had forgotten, was to allow the works to erode over the next thousand years; judging from the rough surface of the stone, the progress of the decay was incremental from the last time he had visited. 

When he was done in the sculpture garden, Solas visited his favorite painting in the museum, a gargantuan tondo of abstract lavender and green, vaguely floral, shapes applied to a clean white surface. The artist had used nontraditional media to render the brushstrokes, like mops and newspaper, affixing a hot pink neon light to the center, the color fields reflecting off one another in the gallery halls in soft waves. 

He had no idea why he liked the painting so much. Nor did Solas want to ruin it by wondering; viewing the work always made him feel as if he were visiting a friend. 

Solas proceeded to the big show in the upstairs galleries. Reading a pamphlet of the exhibition on entering, he was pleased to discover it was a major retrospective of a Dalish artist.

The show was provocative, in the first room, a projector set-up in the corner mirrored two videos side-by-side playing different clips of ancient purity rituals performed by Dalish hunters. On one screen, a man butchered a halla, stopping to collect the blood carefully into a bronze dish. In the other, the hunter bathed himself, singing a throaty song in words whose meanings were long forgotten. The camera lens focused on the movement of his hands, blurring the surroundings into ethereal light. 

Reading the didactic Solas learned it was a self-portrait of the artist. The film was a recording of his last observance of the rite as his clan was forced out of their ancestral homelands. Shortly after that, the artist considered himself an exile. 

In the second room, there was a room-sized pool with Dalish hammered bowls that floated over the surface, the chime produced when they hit each other echoed like a lament. Solas was contemplatively sitting on one of the surrounding benches when he saw a flash of blonde hair and the sound of a familiar laugh. _It couldn’t be._

Solas felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. 

He stood up quickly, rushing into another gallery space peering back from behind a large concrete sculpture. He could see the outline of two figures, their slick black outfits standing out amongst the colorful frills of Orlais. 

For a time, he couldn’t make out the two figures. 

When the pair walked by him, towards one of the large photographs on the opposite wall, Solas caught a whiff of lavender and rosemary perfume. Then he spotted her. Ellana, whispering into the ear of a silver-haired elf. Their hands clasped as they discussed the work in front of them. 

Solas had to flee. His legs could not carry him fast enough. 

He exited the gallery, attempting to exit through the room with the pool installation.

A tour group in front of the video obstructed his passage through the room, the docent sharply scolding him with a gentle, “Sir, you’ll have to exit through the other end.” 

Reluctantly, Solas spun around towards the gallery he had just come from, hoping that Ellana and her companion would have moved on.

No such luck, looking up at him, was the face of Dr. Lavellan. 

She was at the start of the entrance, standing alone in front of a photograph of an Elvhen ruin, appearing to float across the foggy landscape. Her face was paler than Solas’ remembered, an intense expression on her face as she processed his appearance, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Dr. Lavellan, Solas stuttered, feigning surprise. He didn’t want Ellana to think he had been willfully following her. 

She was dressed in tight black cigarette pants with a low cut blazer that wrapped around her tiny waist, the high shoulders adding a flare that was wholly contemporary and vintage at the same time. 

“Professor Fen’Harel,” She said in place of greeting him, her voice terse. Her stare icy.

It had been easier to bear her anger when it had been hot and bright. Now all he saw was malice. 

Solas had no words, nor did Ellana. The two simply stood frozen, staring at each other like two dumbstruck deer. Solas could feel steps echoing in the background, coming closer to the two professors. 

The standoff was interrupted when the silver-haired man with a shaggy haircut came to stand next to Ellana, wrapping an arm around her waist--planting a soft kiss on her forehead--with an ease that made Solas burn with jealousy 

Looking up, Solas recognized the man from the photograph he had seen in Ellana’s apartment on the beach. The man was what Solas would call “cool.” The outfit he was wearing was edgy, the baggy pants and t-shirt loose and artfully rumpled. A tan face, with gray eyes with barely any blue tint, two striking silver lines on the edge of a chiseled jaw, curving around his neck extending down below the collar of his shirt. 

The tattoos didn’t look like _vallaslin,_ but Solas couldn’t place the markings otherwise. 

Seeing Ellana lean into the man’s chest made Solas feel a pulsating sadness he did not think possible. 

Any possibility of reconciling with Ellana Lavellan was lost to him. _Perhaps it would be kinder in the long run._

“Oh,” the man said, catching Ellana’s gaze, and extending his head in Solas’ direction, thin metallic lines stretching over two strong, biceped arms, “You must be one of La’s colleagues, I’m Fenris..” 

Solas gruffly took Fenris’ hand, clasping it a little more tightly than was polite. It was a struggle to keep his face neutral. 

“Solas, it's a pleasure,” He muttered. He wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he would receive from Ellana’s companion. 

Solas was aware of Ellana watching the whole exchange with the sort of interest one might have for a car crash. He was annoyed at her lack of initiative to end the interaction. 

“Ah!” The man gripped his hand with a smug smile, nodding with a sudden, powerful understanding. “You’re the doctor. Nice to meet you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Fenris dresses like Rick Owens? WHY NOT.


	29. The One Where Lavellan is Thrown Out of the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: NSFW content & mentions of past abuse. Fenris has baggage.

**CHAPTER 29**

Ellana was in Cassandra’s kitchen, chopping a pile of mushrooms. Her hands felt automated. Fenris was standing next to her, stirring a pot of simmering bolognese sauce. Feeling faint, she put the large knife she was clenching down on the cutting board, resting against the edge of the granite counter. 

“La, are you alright?” Fenris asked, looking up from the saucepan with a concerned expression on his face. 

That was a question Ellana was also considering. Ever since the dream of Haven, she had a residual headache. Now, whenever she closed her eyes, she felt a ringing in her ears that sounded like a song. Whatever had brought Solas and her together in the dream had triggered something ancient and forgotten in her magic. 

Fenris placed the lid on the pan with a loud crash, coming to stand next to Ellana and wrapping his strong arms around her. She sunk into his embrace. Fenris was not one to openly talk, but she knew he was worried about her. He had actively fussed over her since arriving at her doorstep with an oversized rucksack attached to the back of his motorcycle—an unusual behavior for the taciturn artist. Their mutual desire for independence is what had attracted one another in the first place. 

_Why was she still having the dream?_ Ellana asked herself again. 

Every night she found herself repeatedly walking in a meadow outside one of the ruins from her book. The temple she had called it. When she had dreamed in the site while doing field research, she saw spirits donning halla antler headdresses flickering along the edges of her vision. The otherwordly gathering performed an ancient dance walking in a slow circle around marks made along the ground with what appeared to be salt or chalk. Now she was pulled back there, one spirit staring at her from the sidelines, beckoning her over. 

Ellana knew better. She was not a trained mage, nor was she interested in becoming one. The dusty esoteric rituals and alchemical formulas had never appealed to her. “Don’t talk to spirits,” was a universally understood rule, however, by any magic-user. Although there were very few mages strong enough to cross over to the Fade every night, possession wasn't an unheard of situation. 

_Undoubtedly, the dream and the headache were coincidental?_ Ellana resolved to dwell on the issue at a later time. She was, after all, at a dinner party. With a sigh, she sunk into Fenris’ arms as he firmly pressed her to his firm chest.

Ellana did her best to focus on the present. In the next room, she could hear the laughter of Bull and Gaylen playing a card game with Dorian. Cassandra was sitting at the small square table in her kitchen, hand-rolling pasta. The air was thick with the smell of garlic. Focusing on the sensation grounded her.

 _The headache was probably just stress,_ Ellana thought to herself. _Nothing sinister._

“I hope you both remember to rewash your hands after such unseemly displays in my kitchen,” Cassandra bossed from the chair. Ellana could tell underneath her orders that she had found the whole exchange cute. 

Ellana chucked as Fenris saluted the Nevarran prosecutor. 

“I can finish the rest,” Fenris offered. “Why don’t you go relax?” 

“What he is saying is you are a terrible cook,” Cassandra said with her usual blunt confidence. “So stop being polite and go drink wine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ellana laughed, untying her borrowed apron and hanging it on one of the kitchen chairs. She had at least progressed in her cooking skills enough not to be outright banned by Cassandra and Fenris in kitchen prep, but she was not a talented sous chef. Fenris had already recut half her vegetables. 

Walking into the living room, she saw Gaylen and Bull absorbed in their game, moving little plastic game pieces over an intricate map of Thedas. The two barely noticed when Dorian threw down his cards and walked over to the living room. 

Dorian was more than happy to move over to the couch. “I’m so glad you were thrown out of the kitchen. I couldn’t follow the game, so I was handing out reward cards.” 

Ellana poured herself a glass of wine before plopping down next to him on the couch, resting her head against the mage’s arm. 

“So…” Dorian whispered, ‘Are you and Fenris an item?” 

“I don’t know,” Ellana replied honestly. 

That morning, Fenris was distressed to discover how little Ellana had seen Val Royeaux. He insisted the pair spend the afternoon at the Museum of Modern Art despite her protests that she had too much work to do. “ _Besides,”_ Fenris had argued _“You met Varathorn at the commune and talked with him for hours about ironbark. We should see his retrospective.”_ She was surprised when on the train ride over, Fenris put his arm around her, and later when he had caught her hand in the winding hallways, squeezing it when she looked back at him with uncertainty. 

“I think you might be the only one that is unsure.” Dorian evaluated somberly. “Why didn’t you mention him before? 

“Oh, I would have,” Ellana shrugged. “We were together for a few years, but I thought it was over. After all the absurd things that happened since I moved here, I called Fenris. He came. I didn’t think we had any lingering romantic attachments, but I might have judged the situation a bit incorrectly.” 

Ellana had forgotten how much she had missed the roguish artist. 

“That is clear from the way he looks at you.” Dorian appraised, sipping his wine with a smug smile on his. “It makes me think of a mutual acquaintance of ours.” 

“We ran into Solas at the museum earlier this afternoon,” Ellana announced in a sudden, dramatic whisper. She had been waiting to find Dorian alone to update him on the encounter. It was easier to talk to him about these sorts of things than Cassandra. Not that she was comparing their friendships, but she found Dorian to withhold judgment in a way that she admired. 

Dorian choked on his wine. 

“You have the worst luck.”

“Ugh, you don’t have to tell me.” 

Ellana winced a bit, recalling the mournful expression Solas had flashed her when he saw her and Fenris together. It made the heartbreak between them fresh. 

“What happened?” 

“Everyone was uncomfortable but Fenris. He introduced himself to Solas, at first unknowingly, and then _pointed out that he knew exactly who Solas was_. I said nothing, as Solas politely excused himself, staring at him like an idiot. I’ve never seen someone walk out of a museum exhibition so quickly.” 

“Of course, Fenris was cool,” Dorian paused to refillher glass even though she hadn’t quite finished. “He won. Poor Solas, it seemed as though you were getting along so well. I’m still not quite sure how he bungled it so badly.” 

“He was not forthright about the review--wouldn’t tell me how he wrote it,” Ellana shrugged again. As ungenerous as it was, part of her suspected that if Solas had been honest that he and Cassandra would be working together in the kitchen right now. 

“Something is off with him,” Dorian mused “I know I’ve said that before, _but_ I also don’t know if I should be lamenting the untimely end of you and Solas; Fenris seems fantastic. I know his work, he's prolific, if not brilliant." 

“Yes, he’s a very successful artist. One of the most well-known contemporary photographers, _but_ he lives on an artist commune with no indoor plumbing.” 

“Does that bother you?” Dorian asked with an arched eyebrow. “I’ve never thought you materialistic in that way. Clothes, maybe." 

Ellana laughed at the good-natured jab. The two had bonded over their wardrobes. That evening the Tevinter artist was wearing a distressed white button-down with a pair of jacquard pants. As far as Ellana was concerned, the interest wasn’t superficial, more about a critical relationship to culture. _Or at least that’s how she justified her thrifting habits._

“Mostly, I like working, and teaching art history is a bit of a big city-type profession. Fenris has to be in nature. He needs a very specific type of environment to make work. I don’t know where we’d be able to live in the event things grew more serious…” 

She didn’t tell Dorian about the trauma that Fenris carried with him. An orphan, Fenris had been adopted by a Tevinter magister. The mage had experimented on Fenris, injecting lyrium into his skin to see if he could make the elf into a mage. Nature helped to minimize the mental and physical distress Fenris experienced as a result. 

It wasn’t that Ellana didn’t trust Dorian to understand. It was Fenris’ story to tell, not hers. 

“Ah, those things are difficult to work out,” Dorian said. He glanced over at Bull. Ellana knew that their early love story had been rife with turmoil. Unbeknownst to Dorian Bull had still been working spy jobs on the sly. That is until Bull was shot in the chest in the line of duty. 

“Even if we have a tangled past, I’m grateful Fenris came to stay with me for a while.” 

“Seems like you needed a little distraction. I think, if those looks Fenris has been shooting your way when he thinks no one sees him, you’re going to get laid at the very least.” 

“Dorian!” Ellana cried, shaking her head. She wasn't actually admonishing him. She liked his wickedness. 

“What? I’m an old married man. Single people drama is a sport I thrive on!” 

The conversation was interrupted by a pleased Cassandra announcing that dinner was ready. Bull and Gaylen groaned at having to put their game aside. The group indulged the two with the painstaking chore of transporting the game boards and pieces to the living room floor so the two could resume the perplexing strategy game after dinner. 

Ellana spotted Fenris’s gaze in her direction. His eyes followed to the line of her jaw and then her clavicle as she laughed at a story Bull was telling. After they said their goodbyes and accepted a hearty serving of leftovers, it didn’t’ surprise her when Fenris took her hand again on the walk to the train. The air was cold and biting, a winter wind hitting Ellana full force, making her shiver on the open-air platform. A situation, Fenris remedied by clutching her tightly to his warm body. 

Halfway through the train ride, the two were practically on each other’s laps, her hand resting Fenris’ upper thigh, as he pressed his cheek into her hair, inhaling her perfume. Somehow, they managed to restrain themselves until they were in her apartment. She had hung up her coat, and threw her keys to the catch-all on her desk, when Fenris gently took her by the waist, his thumbs kneading into her skin. Ellana swung around, standing on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his hungry lips. 

It was hard for Ellana not to compare the touch to her recent encounter with Solas. His touch had pulsated with yearning. Fenris' did too, only differently. The familiar sounds that Fenris made when she increased the passion of her kisses were so comforting as was the groan he made when she wrapped her legs around him, for him to carry her over the short distance to the bed. 

“La, is this?” He asked with a troubled appearance as he gently set her down in the center of the bed. 

“I missed you, Fen.” That was all Ellana could manage to say in response, pulling him to her. A perfunctory tumble, after all, did not necessitate a relationship to follow. It would have been unreasonable, even, to expect that they wouldn’t fall into this particular habit at some point. 

He still tasted like mint from all the effort he made to cover up his smoking. Ellana found she still liked the taste. She craved Fenris’ body as he carefully aligned his hips to her own, knowing exactly when to rub up against her to elicit a moan. He was warm and muscular, his passionate kisses trailing over the soft parts of her neck as he unlaced her shirt. 

Without fail, it impressed her how Fenris never fumbled even with her more ornate clothes. He seemed to have an intuitive sense of how to get her naked in a way that was not too efficient, nor too prolonged. When he exposed the delicate bralette that she wore, an intricate sheer black number that barely offered any support, he paused to admire her while she slipped her hands underneath his sweatshirt, tossing it to the floor. 

The magic rose to her skin, like a wave. It was always this way for mages, their mana bubbling over when they were angry or excited. In other situations, she tried not to cast spells around Fenris. When she did, it activated the lyrium markings. In these intimate moments, however, it was impossible not to allow some residual mana into the air. The two had gotten used to it. Usually, Fenris described the perception as a slight, bearable sting. 

“La,” Fenris cried, anguish flashing on his face as their skin met. “I c-can’t.” He was clutching at his chest as if it were on fire. 

“What’s happening?” She said, instinctively reaching towards Fenris to comfort him. “Is it?” 

“Please, not yet,” Fenris said, putting his hands up. His jaw was clenched painfully. “It’s your magic.” 

Ellana was miserable watching Fenris slide out of bed, shaking his shoulders as he crumpled onto the floor. Kneeling a safe distance away, she helplessly watched as Fenris lay still, counting his breaths to control his breathing. When the heaving calmed, she repeated his name, sighing with relief when he gestured for her to lay next to him on the floor. She turned to stare at him, searching his expression for clues as to what happened. 

“This isn’t your fault,” Fenris said, tracing her lips with his fingers. He enunciated each word slowly to reassure her. “I know It’s not something you are actively doing.” 

Ellana was surprised at his assessment. They had argued over several similar situations before given how much her magic tended to scare Fenris “Are you OK?” 

“I thought I wasn’t used to your magic anymore when I first arrived,” Fenris continued in a raspy painful breath that made Ellana shrink. “It’s changed. I can sense it even now in the lyrium markings. It’s more powerful. Ellana, what is going on?” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mapped out the rest of the fanfiction last night and think we are about midway through. (I have a sequel planned, however ;) )
> 
> I also feel the need to spoil the fact that Fenris has had therapy since the last time he and Ellana were together so is really visiting to be supportive & w. v. pure motivations. Mostly, because they totally have had some toxic in their past relationship and I'm not going to perpetuate that here.


	30. The One Where Solas Has Lunch With Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull is secretly the emotional core of this fanfic

**CHAPTER 30**

“Mr. Aclassi?” Solas announced before pulling open the fabric curtains that surrounded the young man’s bed in the ER. The sound of the metal rings scraping against the rod, mixed with the beeps from nearby medical instruments in an off-tune clamor. 

Solas wasn’t often in the non-ICU section of the Emergency Room, but when he was, it was usually because one of the Chargers, Bull’s rugby team, needed his attention. He had become the unofficial doctor to the impish sports team, a title that secretly was one of Solas’ greatest joys. 

“Doc!” an animated voice greeted him. The young man, Krem Aclassi, sat up in his hospital bed, his face red from the cold, a sutured cut on his forehead evidence of his recent injury. His right arm was wrapped in a sling. Picking up the clipboard from the edge of the bed with Krem’s patient notes, Solas read about a possible concussion along with a broken arm. 

“What did you do this time?” Solas said, his tone jovial rather than scolding. “I almost wasn’t at the hospital today, you’ll need to plan your injuries more carefully next time.” 

“Skinner and I were practicing,” Krem admitted with a coy smile, “Perhaps a little too vigorously.” 

“Yes, but what did you hit your head on?” 

“The stadium floor,” Krem confessed.

“I don’t follow. The field? You were playing rugby…”

“No, Skinner and I were working on our dance routine for when we won, and I fell and hit my head on the concrete steps when I jumped off the edge of one of the seats. I thought I could flip from one of the balconies.” 

Solas had to repress a laugh as he pictured the spectacle. He didn’t want to shame the young man. Solas might not be the most joyful individual in Thedas, but Krem might win the top prize in that category if a contest was ever held. It was a quality he appreciated. 

“Ah, let’s see that arm,” Solas said gently, helping Krem out of the sling with a practiced touch. Looking at the arm, he could immediately tell by the swelling and the way the bone jutted out underneath the skin that it was broken. 

“Ouch,” Solas evaluated. “Do you need more--”

“No, I’m pretty doped up. It’s in my head. I can’t think clearly.” Solas took out a small flashlight shaped like a pen out of his front white coat pocket for Krem to follow with his eyes. After a few more tests, Solas was confident that Krem had a concussion. It was a semi-regular occurrence. 

“Ok, you know the drill, let’s get you into a CT scan. Morrigan or I might be able to heal it with our mana, but we’d have to get special clearance on the arm since it’s not a life-threatening injury. If I correctly estimated the extent of the breakage, you’ll be benched for at least six to eight weeks.” 

“Better you tell the Coach the news than me,” Krem joked, leaning back into bed. “He’s not going to be happy about me sitting out the next game.” 

“I’m sorry that your gymnastic routine will have to wait for another day. Although, I might recommend practicing on softer ground next time.” 

“Thanks Doc. Think you’ll want to come to the next game I play?” 

Solas smiled, patting Krem on his good shoulder. “Send me a ticket, and I’ll be there.” 

“You got it,” Krem shouted as Solas walked out to the waiting area, waving a hand at a weary-looking Bull who had on a bomber jacket with the Chargers logo intricately embroidered on the front and back. The qunari rose from the pastel pink couch when Solas entered the room. 

“Krem?” 

“He’ll be fine. I’ve sent him to get a CT scan. I managed to heal the cut on his forehead, and if need be, we can address the brain swelling. Then we’ll put a cast on the arm.” 

“Ah, great.” His face fell when he thought of Krem unattended in the hospital. There had been a few unkind incidents regarding Krem’s preferred pronouns in the past. Solas hated to think of such prejudice existing in the medical field, a discipline whose intention was to help, but nonetheless, he knew not to underestimate the possibility. 

“One of my best residents, Anders, is overseeing the CT scan and the aftercare. Krem is in good hands.” 

“Thanks for looking out for him, Doc,” Bull acknowledged with a large smile. 

“Anytime,” Solas said, turning to go pick up a few other patient files before returning to the neurology wing. 

“Doc?” 

“Yes?”

“Do you want to grab a bite to eat, maybe? Thought you might need a talk.”

“About?” 

“Spy shit.” 

Solas could feel himself reactively blanch. He suspected that Bull, a trained agent, had identified Solas as one who dabbled in subterfuge, but to acknowledge that part of his life was verboten openly. It could put him at risk, not to mention others. He glanced around the room nervously, searching for faces that might be listening. 

“Don’t worry. I meant my spy shit. Maybe I should loudly say, what other spy shit could there be?’ 

Solas looked at his wristwatch. He hadn’t had lunch yet and had a few hours before his next wave of patient appointments started. 

“We could go to the cafeteria?” Solas suggested hesitantly. 

“Sure,” Bull agreed. 

Solas half-listened as Bull chattered away about the Chargers’ recent season. If he was honest, all he wanted to hear about was Ellana. He knew that she and Dorian were close, and he hoped for any news, second-hand or not, about how the art historian was fairing ( _and the current state of her relationship with the silver-haired elf from the museum_ ). 

The two separated upon arrival to the cafeteria, an open room filled with natural light. A designer had renovated the space since Solas had started there, adding soft green walls and furniture that was intended to evoke an at-home feeling. A moss wall covering one side of the room was one of his favorite features. Solas often sat looking at it, eating by himself, over long shifts. 

Grabbing a tray, Solas grabbed a ready-made egg salad sandwich, a glass of lemonade (no ice), and a giant chocolate cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. It was a strange combination, but after staying awake over the last twenty-four hours, he was susceptible to emotional eating. 

When he joined Bull at the table, he was amused to see Bull had two chicken burritos with all the toppings made. The two ate in silence for some minutes before the qunari began to speak. 

“Why have we never done this before,” Bull said in a charmed tone. “How many times have the Chargers been under your care?” 

“I don’t know if I should celebrate that number. Although it is always a pleasure,” 

“I guess you don’t go out to lunch very often. Huh?” 

“No, I’m afraid that I’m often busy with...patients,” Solas replied in a weary voice. He almost slipped and said, “spy shit.” 

“Did you know I was a spy?” Bull volunteered with a grin. “Ben-Hassrath actually, it’s a rather elite order within Par Vollen. Broke up some smuggling rings, did some undercover jobs. Made some things go boom. Pretty dirty work, actually. You know, I’d say that spies usually recognize other agents. You know, _hypothetically,_ the way they scan every room they enter looking for danger.” 

Solas winced, realizing he was searching the room for any threats out of habit. 

“Not that you would know that,” Bull said with a wink, “I thought I’d catch you up.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, Bull. I was aware you were a Ben-Hassarath, I recall you telling me about the chest wound on more than one occasion.” 

“Yeah, messed things up between Dorian and me for some time. I had to quit the business, find a new occupation. Amazing how sport team management overlaps with a lot of qualities that make for good intelligent agents--lots of jumping--breaking up fights--good listening.” 

Solas chuckled. Although the subject of the conversation made him uncomfortable, he appreciated that the qunari was doing his best to offer him emotional support. He was trying to read between the lines, trying to gauge if Ellana had motivated the discussion in any way. 

“Anyway, I’m not sure sometimes if I quit Ben Hassareth for Dorian or because the job got too hard and too dark.” Bull finished after giving several long explanations of prior spy jobs, stopping to draw out rough schematics on a paper napkin more than once. 

“I thought the gun wound to the chest was the deciding factor.” 

“No--no. That was freelance. I met Dorian and was taken with him, he was unsure at first, kept making excuses to come over--leaving things behind. Don’t tell him I told you this, but one time he called me in the middle of the night worried that someone was trying to break in. He insists that it wasn’t an elaborate ploy--but I went and then...” 

“So you quit because of Dorian?” Solas asked, cutting off Bull from continuing with the more salacious details. 

“Par Vollen wanted me to sacrifice my men. Leave them all for dead. Couldn’t do it. Had taken orders for years, had to do some ruthless things. One day I was a true believer. The next, I was done. No accounting for the change. Maybe it was Dorian--maybe it was the loyalty to my men. My thoughts waver day-to-day. Par Vollen didn’t seem to mind too much. Only sent one assassin after me. Now I’m Tal Vashoth, but it doesn’t matter because I have a good life here in Val Royeaux full of people who I love.” 

“A heart-warming story, one to aspire to for all spies if circumstances are kind,” Solas replied. “Although, if we were to be talking _hypothetically,_ sometimes things are not that straightforward. Sometimes one must persist along a certain route if lives are at stake.” 

“The life of an art historian?” Bull said with a knowing glance. 

_“Hypothetically_ , it could be anyone’s life.” Solas sullenly replied, taking off the paper from his cupcake, biting into the frosting with relish. He knew he didn’t have to confirm Bull’s suspicions. The qunari appeared to have already figured out that whatever had motivated Solas' actions it was to protect Dr. Lavellan. 

“I like Ellana. I’m glad she and Dorian found each other. Dorian didn’t have a lot of friends that really _got_ him. I wish they would both wear weather appropriate clothing this time of year. Think it’s all the time they spent on Tevinter beaches--a great place. Have you been?” 

“What do you think Dr. Lavellan would say knowing you were freely chatting with her least favorite person in all of Thedas,” Solas asked, ignoring Bull’s diversion. “Someone she might even term dishonest.” 

“Were you dishonest?” Bull asked bluntly.

“I’m not sure, tell me what the specific thing I might have been dishonest about, and I can tell you with certainty.” 

“Wow, you’re really deep in it, aren’t you?” 

Solas didn’t acknowledge Bull's question, finishing half of his cupcake in one bite. 

"Can I do anything to help you?" Bull asked. His face was tender, welcoming. 

"Watch out for Dr. Lavellan," Solas replied gruffly. 

The conversation was interrupted by Solas' pager buzzing. Instinctively he reached for the small plastic box on his belt buckle before making eye contact with Bull to indicate he had to leave and fast. 

“Krem?” 

“I’d tell you. It’s a child. Came into their magic somethings not right. Do you mind if--”

“Go,” Bull said, gesturing at the trays and the discarded food wrappers, “I’ll clean up.” 

“Thanks, and thanks for lunch,” Solas said, his white lab coat billowing around him as he jogged back to the ER.

It was going to be another lonely shift. 


	31. The One Where Lavellan Learns About Veil Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mystic Lady Time

**CHAPTER 31**

Ellana grudgingly woke up right before dawn. Fenris was snoring, his back pressed against hers. Instead of lingering in the warmth of her bed, Ellana climbed out into the cold air of her apartment.

It was the annual day trip to the Department of Art History to Halamshiral. Or as most Orleasians referred to it, the Winter Palace.

She did not want to go. Decisively so.

Her years as a runner had made Ellana an early riser. Usually, she was ready and out the door in a matter of minutes.

Not today.

She had budgeted time for her lack of enthusiasm, allowing the water to flow over her in the shower in an attempt to galvanize her spirits. It didn’t help.

Not even one of her favorite suits--a boucle jacket with a high waisted pencil skirt--made her feel optimistic about the long bus ride to and from the palace-turned-art-museum.

After pulling up a pair of opaque tights around her tanned legs, and sliding her feet into a pair of leather pumps, Ellana wearily hung her head in her hands, doing her best to mentally will herself forward and out the door. 

“What time will you be home?” Fenris interrupted her in a groggy voice.

Fenris’ word choice threw Ellana off.

She wasn’t sure what the current state of their relationship was. It had oscillated between lover and friend over the last few weeks with no discernable pattern. She couldn’t recall a time in their long history when it had been this easy between them--only something felt like it was missing--more than a few things if she was being crude. She knew that if they were determined, they might find a way to overcome the barrier of her magic, but Fenris had been fearful at any attempt. So they didn't talk about it. 

“Late, don’t wait for me to eat”

“I’ll cook, just text,” Fenris replied in his usual brusque manner, reaching out a hand to squeeze her arm, before turning over and falling back asleep.

 _At least I’ll come home to a good meal,_ Ellana thought to herself, resigned to what was destined to be a long day, On the train to campus Ellana tried to remind herself how fantastic and engaged her students were--and how animated the chatter had been in a class that week when she had gone over their assignment for the trip to sketch and map out the formal elements of a dozen works of their choice.

Visiting Halamshiral should be exciting. After all, Ellana had never been. It was one of the largest art collections in all of Thedas, all but a few wings converted into a museum, filled with treasures of the ancient and present world. There were several Elvhen artifacts she hoped to steal a glance at.

Ellana thought it inevitable that something would go wrong. Especially with that much exposure to the Department of Art History.

Since her stand-off with Rodderick whatever hope Ellana had to forge a good relationship with her colleagues evaporated. Before the incident, she had sensed some movement on that front, on several occasions in the department lounge, fellow professors would wave and acknowledge Ellana or talk with her about upcoming conferences. After Rodderick had accosted her, however, all she received were icy stares.

Wynne was the only one in the department that showed her kindness.

Ellana appreciated how the senior faculty member made efforts to include her in the everyday business of the department. Sometimes she would even stop by her office to let her know an all faculty event had been scheduled (as Ellana somehow never seemed to receive the invitations), or ask how her classes were going--patiently helping Ellana troubleshoot student issues and brainstorm assignments. Wynne, unfortunately, like Ellana was often excluded because she refused to play the passive-aggressive game that ruled the pecking order of the art history faculty.

Unlike Ellana, however, Wynne had tenure.

Judging by how much her fellow faculty appeared to loathe her, Ellana was skeptical she would achieve similar recognition. The bus ride to Halamshiral did little to alleviate her apprehension of future career success. She observed the other faculty move about the rented passenger bus to gossip about her in Orlesian (they still hadn’t figured out she was fluent) on every topic ranging from her _vallaslin_ to the exact nature of her relationship with Dorian.

Listening to the unpleasant whispers, Ellana felt her resolve wane even further. For the first time in her life, she was having a difficult time tackling each obstacle that stood in the way of her goals. It wasn’t that she was unfailingly confident. On occasion, she struggled with feeling like she was an imposter; even more so that she had only received her accolades on account of being an elf and a woman. What haunted her on that bus ride was a different question: was winning the fight worth it?  
  
She couldn’t figure out if her department hated her for being Dalish, or if her scholarship made them irrelevant. Maybe she really did have an attitude?

Determined to ignore the background noise and enjoy some part of the day, Ellana slipped a romance novel by Varric Tethras between the covers of a very dry book on earlyTevinter frescos and allowed the raunchy prose to carry her away. She was enjoying a particularly rowdy scene where a chevalier was dueling with a swashbuckling pirate queen when the bus came to a stop outside the museum gates.

Stepping off the bus, Ellana was surprised to feel overwhelmed. She had seen photographs of the palace, in many publications. Gold turrets reached up almost as tall as a skyscraper. The walls of the castle, painted the same shade of blue as a robin’s egg, wrapped around each other like a complicated layer cake. It was all too extravagant.

That, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of the site's history. The elven capital that had stood there had been torn down, its inhabitants slaughtered in all manner of cruel ways. The perfectly manicured lawns with straight hedges, the gardens with delicate vines wrapping around wooden trellis-like green party favors, all if it obstructed the blood-soaked ground. The atrocities happened thousands of years ago, but still, Ellana couldn’t help but feel slightly indignant thinking of the Orlesian crown having so much while ransacking the nearby town’s alienage on a whim for hundreds of years on end as sport.

When she located her group of twenty or so advanced undergraduates, Ellana found some peace knowing that the class roster represented all of Thedas--human, dwarf, qunari and elven. If the past scholars had failed to diversify their academic work--perhaps the future generations would correct their errors.

Guiding her students through the hallways, she pointed out the special exhibition of the archeological digs on the palace grounds that had uncovered the artifacts of the elves that had once lived there. A couple of students asked if the group could go through, and she indulged them, taking a few questions on the iconography of a floor fresco of halla ornamented with blood lotuses. The students were able to watch preservationists working to reconstruct the mosaic pieces behind a wall of plexiglass windows.

After the exhibition, Ellana directed the group to examine early Tevinter statues. Rather than lecture, she asked her students to point out the terminology and concepts that had been covered in class.

The exercise was awkward at first, as many were shy, but a waifish human named Cole had offered his quiet, yet uncannily correct, interpretations of the artifacts’ history and purpose. By the time the cohort reached the upstairs hallway of early icon paintings the discussion was animated, and Ellana only had to nudge for her students to be able to identify the Andrastian saints and modes of production.

“You’ve a gift for teaching,” Wynne complimented her as the two met for lunch in the cafeteria.

“Thank you, from you that is a very meaningful compliment,” Ellana replied earnestly. The rousing lecture the gray-haired professor had given to her graduate students had inspired her.

When the two scholars had finished their salads and sparkling waters and discarded the trays, they spent the next few hours wandering the halls guiding students writing frantic notes and making sketches of various skills. As the day was about to wrap up, Ellana felt relief that nothing terrible had happened. In a little less than an hour, she’d return on the faculty bus, and then make her way home.

Sera, her favorite problematic student, pulled Ellana away from Wynne, opening up her sketchbook to pages upon pages of tenderly rendered pencil drawings. The two talked for a bit when Ellana suggested Sera go to one of the trophy rooms full of taxidermied animals in funny positions. The roguish artist had taken off at a gallop with a security guard calling out her to slow down. Ellana was about to chase after Sera to scold her when a sharp pain erupted in her head.

Ellana sat down with a soft huff on a nearby bench overlooking one of the palace gardens. The dream that had been troubling her sleep never stopped. For weeks she had been exhausted, mulling over its meaning. She had considered, at length, who she might reach out to for advice, but as far as she knew Professor Fen’Harel was the only one with any basic insight. Contacting him certainly was not an option.

Fenris had tried to help, but the subject frightened him. After his abuse by the rogue mage, magic, in his mind, had always been dangerous, even if Ellana barely used her mana. He had done his best to listen, but the expression of agony that flashed over his face made Ellana stop bringing up the subject entirely. She had taken up running again to discharge her mana in the evenings, mostly, because whatever was causing her dreams had made her have an excessive amount of energy. Exhausting himself for his comfort was an easy choice.

Whatever was going on, Ellana thought she was stubborn enough to persist. Spirits? She’d never give in to their supernatural whims.

The headache she had turned into a migraine. Her head throbbed. The corridor she found refuge in was filled with empty sets of armor on mannequins of knights and war stallions. For a moment, the room was humming, the statues shaking as if there was a minor earthquake.

Clenching her eyes shut, Ellana opened them to find the sensation to have stopped. Only now colors appeared on the edges of her vision, as if she were staring through a prism. A song began to play for her, a lullaby she never noticed before, playing in the background her entire life.

Standing, she began to walk towards the hum, out the hallway, it grew louder when she turned past the dusty plinths covered in old pottery. It was a crescendo when she walked through another room covered in chiaroscuro paintings of one of the Chantry’s golden ages. The destination Ellana arrived at did not surprise her: the library. Or at least that is what one of the three other Elvhen art history scholars had argued it was.

She had read the article in the latter part of last year. Halamshiral was not only built on the foundation of the former capital of the Elvhen kingdom, As more parts of Thedas had been conquered, the Crown had co-opted entire rooms and hallways from archeological digs. The library was one such room. Dug up by the Chantry, from some distant part of Arlathan, it had been taken apart stone-by-stone and rebuilt in the palace, repurposed as a chapel for Chantry worship.

The author, a scholar in the Exalted Plains whom Ellana had never met, argued that when magic was strong, images would have flickered over the surface of the golden mosaics filling the room like faint mirages--but as magic waned, the metal was reduced to decorative material; a perfect backdrop for the kitsch of Andrastian worship. Its original purpose, however, had probably been to relay information, the walls functioning as a type of primitive screen for magic to project upon like a movie.

The Chantry rejected the paper, arguing that such an argument was heretical, the chapel dating back to the time of Andraste, one that she had used to pray to the Maker.

Walking forward through the center aisle of wooden prayer benches, Ellana could see the old gods flashing along the walls through the corners of the eyes. When she looked directly at them, they vanished. Behind the Chantry altar, there was only rough stone. A few rusty braziers made out of copper affixed to the wall. Her heart began to beat as voices swirled around in the atmosphere like a wind. Whatever song that had drawn her there was no longer noise, but a collection of voices. Some of the voices were intelligible, speaking in tongues that no longer existed. Others simply laughed, happy as if to welcome her to a forgotten corner of the world.

 _Was she possessed?_ Ellana was not sure she was entirely herself. She walked forward. One foot after another.

“Dr. Lavellan,” a voice sneered at her, interrupting her thoughts. It was Rodderick. Turning for a moment, Ellana could see his ruddy, angry face.

Ellana ignored him as she reached out a hand towards the brazier placing her hand in the flame. It should have burned her. It did not. Around her, the gold paint wilted, bending into more defined things, like halla jumping, or winter foxes burrowing--all the earthly things that the old elves had loved.

“Stop touching it!” Roderick demanded.

Ellana disobeyed. Her body shook as the neon green writing came to the surface of the stone. She could barely hear Rodderick’s hysterics behind her as he fell to the ground in terror.

His screams, while annoying, were helpful if only to confirm to Ellana what she was seeing was real.

“What is going on?” She heard the surprised voice of Wynne in the background. For a time she and Rodderick argued.

“Ellana?" Wynne called to her, she could feel a sharp twist of magic, the senior faculty’s barrier spell, around her skin.

 _Why was Rodderick still shouting? All would be well._ Was the last thing Ellana remembered hearing before touching the writing. A thousand words flashed through her mind simultaneously, before she was pulled away from the waking world into a pit of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Julian of Norwich, who wrote the earliest surviving book in the English language by a woman, Revelations of Divine Love, that ends with the phrase: "and all will be well,' 'all manner of things shall be well."


	32. The One Where Briala Pages Solas

**CHAPTER 32**

Solas reluctantly made the long drive to Halamshiral that afternoon. Leliana had begged him, her voice uncharacteristically emotional, saying she needed his advice on an issue of national importance. He suspected the Empress Celine and her cousin Gaspard were attempting to assassinate one another _again_ He never confirmed his suspicions, as when he was waiting for Leliana in one of the basement security rooms, Solas was urgently paged to attend a medical emergency in one of the museum wings by Briala, chief of staff (and rumored mistress) of Empress Celine. 

Well acquainted with how devious Briala was, Solas half-expected to walk into a trap. Or at the very least, some sort of power play. 

Grabbing the medical bag he always carried with him, Solas ran through the secret hallways that wound through the palace walls, stepping out of a cupboard right next to the Shrine of Andraste. He was greeted by the impatient Chief, her arms crossed over her chest. Inquisition agents had taped off the corridor with yellow police tape, and in the distance, he saw a few scouts--dressed in beige uniforms--talking to who looked like his colleagues Rodderick and Wynne wrapped in metallic disposable blankets. The type used to help those suffering from shock. Rodderick was crying, while Wynne attempted to console him. 

_What are they doing here?_ He wondered to himself, distracted by an eerie green light emanating from the shrine entrance, Solas felt his head throb, a familiar sensation indicating he was in the presence of powerful magic. 

Solas wasn’t sure if he should be relieved that he was called to an actual emergency, rather than one of Briala’s petty stunts. 

“What is going on?” he asked the auburn headed elf. She was dressed in a tight forest green dress with a square neckline. A sash tied around her shoulders embroidered with the empress’ crest designated her high office amongst the palace administration. 

“A faculty member, from your University,” Briala responded in a posh accent typical of those born in the village of Halamshiral “Just so happened to accidentally unlock the veil fire in the shrine.” 

“Why would there be--” He recalled a conversation he had with Vivienne a few days ago mentioning the annual Department of Art History trip to the museum. _What were the odds?_

“Seriously, did you not know this was an Elvhen shrine? Did you not read the press? This is _usually_ your thing.” 

“I-I hadn’t given it much thought. No one has been able to summon veil fire for years." 

Solas felt his stomach flip. Peeking through the doorway he saw a distinctive tuft of blonde hair on the ground poking out from behind the stone altar. 

Ignoring Briala’s aggressive hassling, Solas ran as fast as he could through the chamber. His focus was so intense he missed the silhouettes percolating over the golden tiles, along with the twinkling glyphs appearing on the walls like fireflies. Kneeling on the ground, a delicate face looked up at him, tattooed symmetrical branches on each high cheekbone. Solas realized with great dread; yes, it was Ellana. 

Years of diligent practice had forced Solas to put aside his emotions when treating patients. Finding Dr. Lavellan unconscious on the dusty floor threatened to break all of his cultivated discipline in a matter of seconds. With a deep breath, he set about evaluating her injuries, doing his best to suppress any emotional knee jerk reaction that might put Ellana into jeopardy. Nothing he had faced before had ever been such a struggle. Not even jumping off a cliff hundreds of feet in the air. 

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, considering such things lost forever, but he cared for her. 

The scholar's face appeared unbruised. Nor did Solas find any worrying indicators that she had hit her head on the altar. Taking out a stethoscope, Solas determined her heartbeat was normal and steady. If he hadn’t found Ellana in such unusual circumstances he would have thought she was simply asleep. Her expression untroubled. Her breathing was slow and easy. Solas ran a wave of mana over Ellana’s temple, pulling delicately at her aura.

It was always difficult to verbalize what the experience of magic was like. Sometimes, when Solas cast a spell he felt as if he were walking through a field of mist. Other times, it was as if there was a churning gyre in his chest. Nothing quite felt like veil magic. It wasn’t dense, nor was it true delirium--it was as if consciousness was lodged between everything, material or otherwise. Ellana pulsated with the Fade. For lack of a better explanation, it was as if she had been pickled in the Veil. 

For the first time, Solas turned to search the room for clues. The walls were undulating with shadowy images. He couldn’t make out the figures clearly, but Solas felt as if he were being watched. By who or what he couldn’t fathom. Turning to look at the wall behind him, he spotted the esoteric glyphs of the Elvhen alphabet flashing before his eyes. Some of the characters were recognizable, but none of it was legible.

Judging from the way that Ellana’s body was configured, she had slumped gradually to the floor, rather than fallen--to the ground, one hand extended towards the wall, she had touched the glyphs and entered whatever mystical state she was in. The force that had overtaken her was not physical, nor was it neurological. Magic was the sole remaining option. 

Rubbing his anxious hands over his head, Solas mulled his choices. It was possible that given time, Ellana would regain consciousness. More likely, however, the strength of the magic would overtake her, breaking down her body over time. If Ellana wasn't fully capable of managing her dreams in the Fade, the extended time could expose her to possession, or worse.

Adrenaline and instinct gave Solas an idea, rummaging around in his bag he took out a vial of anesthesia and a needle. Carefully tapping the glass for air bubbles, he untucked his shirt from his belt, jabbing and injecting the medicine in his stomach muscle, he quickly lay down on the floor, sleep instantly washing over him. 

If Ellana was caught in the Fade, Solas would find her. 

He hoped he wasn’t too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pickled in the Fade should be a themed cocktail.


	33. The One Where Solas Jokes With A Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> s/o to everyone who came up with a cocktail suggestion for "The Pickled Fade."
> 
> p.s. update 7/31/20 Anyone want a beta reader? leave a comment) Enjoying editing right now.

**CHAPTER 33**

It was as if the world had been pulled out from beneath Ellana’s feet. At first, she felt suspended, weightless, in black nothingness, then abruptly she was pacing the familiar landscape of the Temple. In her dream the complex was a complete enclosure with a domed roof, the soaring basalt arches still somehow reminiscent of the piles of worn stones she knew in the present day. Walking around the hill, Ellana counted seven walls, each decorated with a representation of one of the elements the ancient elves had worshipped: water, fire, earth, sky, birth, entropy (or destruction), and death. 

It was hard for Ellana to gain control of her heightened thoughts and emotions. Touching the wall of glyphs had transformed her. A sudden burst of memories flooded her mind, as if she had experienced them first-hand. Only, they were jumbled and fragmented. One image appeared frequently enough to stand out: a stone-carved orb, large enough that it needed two hands to hold comfortably. She couldn’t recall a similar artifact from her scholarship. The whispers singing in her mind told her it was powerful and that she was meant to find it. 

The images and words that flowed through her crowded out concrete sensation or thought. So she wandered; unsure if time was passing. Her bare feet touched the ground, squelching mud between her toes. But when Ellanna looked down, her pale toes were clean. Such paradoxes were common in the Fade.

Spotting none of the ghostly figures she was accustomed to seeing in the Temple enclosure, Ellana walked up for the first time. Passing through one of the open archways, she entered the enclosure. The inside was covered in thousands of small gold pieces, roughly cut, placed together to fill the interior. An oculus in the center of the ceiling revealed an ashen sky. The effect was exquisite; material made spectacle. 

Ellana thought she might lay on the grass to enjoy the experience a little longer, but as her eyes adjusted to the pale iridescence of the sanctuary, she was shocked to recognize the angled form of Solas Fen’Harel intently focused on a creature in the shape of a bear. It lounged on its back, belly upturned, languid, and content. 

Creeping forward, Ellana could overhear the two chatting like old friends. 

“I might just have to pester you if you don’t tell me where she is,” Solas joked, tapping his foot lightly on the ground. Although his voice was light, she noticed his brow was furrowed in annoyance.

 _Was he looking for me?_ Ellana wondered, worried that her thoughts might echo into the open air. 

“Oh, please, you are incapable of vexation,” the bear answered jovially, its mouth lolling wide and quite unmoving despite its words.

“It would be a kindness--” Solas began to say, but broke off when he spotted Ellana, who stood transfixed by the odd pair.

“You...?” Ellana spurted. Drawing closer, she realized the bear’s fur was not flat ebony as she had first thought; each dense strand was a rainbow prism. 

“Searching for you,” Solas replied, stretching his arms wide and springing forward to greet her. “I thought my friend here would know more.” 

“Your friend...” Ellana looked towards the bear-shaped creature again and gasped as its form shrank to a squeaking mouse, then glowed and shifted into the shimmering incorporeal form of the spirit who had beckoned her in her dreams past. 

Ellana stepped backward and prepared to flee the sanctum, but Solas reached towards her and stilled her with a touch. 

“It’s alright,” Solas assured her, “This is a spirit of wisdom.” 

“ _This_ is dangerous,” Ellana insisted, gesturing in the direction of the spirit, trying again to walk away before she felt Solas grasp her hand.

“Let go of me!” she demanded. 

“In a moment,” Solas replied dryly, loosening his grip. “Wisdom has been calling to you for months. It is beginning to feel slighted.” 

“You are on a first-name basis with this spirit?” Ellana sputtered in disbelief. It was all too much. A suspicion flashed into her mind: this unexpected encounter with Solas was far too unlikely. A desire demon could sense her suppressed need for him and use his form to lure her. He dashed these thoughts as he gathered her into an embrace. His aura was reassuring, calming, and tinged with concern. These feelings were far too familiar and restrained to be the sensual glamor of a demon. Ellana collapsed into Solas’ toned chest, and a warm sensation washed over her.

“Wisdom will not make it easy to awaken if you ignore it again,” Solas murmured into her ear, before releasing her, “and you've already risked much wandering here. This is an opportunity to find another piece of our puzzle.” 

Ellana met his blue eyes. She didn’t want to admit how much she had second-guessed her stubborn words over the last few months.

“How are you here, Solas? Why is it _our_ puzzle now?” 

“After we wake up. The Fade is not a place for explanations, only answers.” 

“How can I trust you?” 

“You can’t,” Solas admitted. A sorrowful expression crossed his face, and he released her. “But listen, and you can choose what to believe."

Resigned, Ellana approached the spirit. Solas was right: usually, she could urge herself awake during a lucid dream, but here in the Temple it felt as if her brain was paralyzed in a jar of sludge. Her resolve wavered as she drew closer. The creature's face was oddly abstract and underdeveloped: outlines of two eyes, a nose, and mouth. A fog of shrill noise hung about it, ringing her eardrums. Underneath she thought she heard the crystalline intonations of a woman's voice.

"Lately, it is rare for one of your kind to visit here, Fade Reader. But, as unwilling as you may be, your visit is not so unnatural."

Stepping forward, despite herself, Ellana demanded, "What do you mean? What do you think I am?"

“One that can bridge the two worlds.” The spirit shifted as if facing away from her, but she still felt the pressure of its attention.

"Do you mean by dreaming?"

"What is dreaming? Your essence is of this world, and your grip on the other is tenuous. There are no ruins here Wouldn't you rather stay? 

"I don't know where 'here' is. You brought me here against my will."

"I do not bring, and I do not send. You are here, and not here, and yet the orb reaches for you, thirsts for your mana. You will not rest until you find it. It will be in all places, with you, until you find it."

Solas stepped closer at the mention of the Foci, finger raised. "Is it wise to speak of…" but the spirit quivered slightly, like a wind had passed through it, and Solas was gone with a soft _whoosh._

Ellana gaped at the space where Solas had stood, but the spirit whispered, "He knows much, understands little." Glowing a little more brightly, the spirit continued, "Ask him what he knows about the orb, he hides it from you. That is unseemly in one who loves you so intensely."

"Love?"

"He understands little and keeps fewer secrets. Go to him now."

The temple melted away. Ellana woke panting on a stone floor. Her whole body was stiff and unfamiliar. It felt so heavy to be part of the waking world. She could make out the stone walls of the library, now a dull and matte gray. The dimpling of the surface made Ellana think of how many pilgrims had come before, running their hands over the walls. 

“It is good to see you awake.” A baritone voice announced. As her eyes came into focus she saw the face of Solas Fen’Harel staring back down at her, his hand moved to brush a few pieces of hair out of her face. Only, after spotting her frown, he pulled away, softly letting Ellana sink back to the ground. 

Ellana felt no joy at seeing Solas. Quite She wanted to scream when she saw the smug look off his face. _Did he think he had rescued her?_

What she said seemed to have an equally chilling effect. 

“Professor Fen'Harel?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you know about the orb?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It felt cathartic to have Solas sent out of the Fade after all the unresolved sexual tension of the last six years of playing those romance scenes in DAI. 
> 
> I'm not sorry.
> 
> Also yes, Fade Reader is going to be different than Fade Walker.


	34. The One Where Solas Confesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHO IS PLAYING WHO?

**CHAPTER 34**

“Why do you know about the orb?” Ellana asked Solas the instant her eyes opened in the dusty library. 

In his worry for Ellana's safety, Solas was not prepared for such an intense question. Nor did he think he could attempt any answer as his mind was foggy from the anesthesia he had impulsively injected into his system. Fortunately, for him, the conversation was interrupted when two auburn headed women rushed into the shrine and hovered over the art historian like birds of prey. 

Solas could barely track his surroundings as Inquisition agents ushered the pair through the hidden hallways to one of the conference rooms in the royal wing which functioned halfway between a living space for the Empress and a headquarters, in partnership with the Chantry, for her elite security force.

Officially, the Inquisition didn’t exist. If it did, however, this would be _the_ conference room that hosted their most important life-or-death discussions. 

It was a room familiar to Solas, undecorated except for an imposing marble table that spanned the whole length of the room with seating for all of the Empress’ twenty-or-so person cabinet, along with the necessary support staff. An entire wall was a climate-controlled bookshelf covered by a sheet of bulletproof glass. Between the aged book covers lived some of the most titillating secrets of the Orlesian crown ranging from account totals of misbegotten funds to personal diaries of long-assassinated rulers. 

The light from the overhead fluorescent fixtures was overbearingly bright, prompting Solas to briefly retreat out through a door to the side that opened to a balcony overlooking an interior palace garden. The air was crisp and refreshing. Removed from the shrine, he no longer felt the tingling of magic on his skin. A relief, considering how disarming the encounter had been. A few deep inhales and exhales cleared his senses and Solas felt ready to finally face Ellana, who was sitting in one of the nearby chairs. 

Sinking down opposite from her, Solas was unsurprised to see Ellana was pale and withdrawn. She had wrapped her arms around her shaking body, in an effort to conserve her warmth. He made a note to request a blanket for her as soon as the opportunity presented itself, given that chills were a side-effect from exhausting her mana to access the Fade. 

It was difficult for Solas to imagine what Ellana must be thinking. 

His memories of the what transpired in the Fade were haphazard: a flash of some forgotten ruins mixed with the nonsensical advice the Spirit of Wisdom had given them. It stung a bit, for him to recall, how the spirit had pushed him out of the dream world. Whatever had come to pass after his exile, had revealed one of his greatest secrets. 

He would have to come to terms with such an outcome, and quickly. 

Briala and Leliana argued outside the door in Orlesian. Gradually, their words had grown more heated, and the two were shouting a litany of threats at each other while debating what contrived cover-up story would work to ease Ellana into a false sense of security. 

“You might want to tell them I am fluent,” Ellana muttered to him, breaking the awkward silence. Her voice was light, but Solas could see how uncomfortable she was, her body stiff and her gaze wandering anywhere that was not his face. 

“Leliana is aware,” Solas cautioned without any need to calculate the game at play. “I suspect she wants you to hear what she’s saying to Briala. That way you can’t be manipulated by her.” 

“What are you, people? What kind of life is this?”

“A poor one,” Solas responded. His voice was heavy with grief. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking only to Ellana, but also to himself as a way to further process the complicated web that had repeatedly ensnared the two. He took no pleasure that his burden had become hers as well. 

Again, Solas had to repress the fantasy of what it might be like between them without the added complications. 

“What the fuck--” Solas winced as Ellana hurled the words at him. Her face had transformed into a snarl, reddening from her anger. 

Solas was ready to tell her the truth. Or, at least as much as he could manage.

“I wrote the review under false pretenses,” he tentatively began, tapping his fingers nervously on the marble table in a stable rhythm, “as when I read your words, yes, I realized that you were like me, and could lucidly dream in the Fade.” 

His confession appeared to have calmed Ellana, her hazel eyes were glimmering encouragingly as he spoke. 

“I study the way the brain overlaps with the Fade. This work is of particular relevance to a group called the Evanurius, the blood mage who attacked you, if you recall--.” 

“Professor Fen’Harel, obviously, ” Ellana churlishly breathed, slapping her hand down on the table “I’ve had enough of this secrecy. Whatever this all is--.” 

“Please,” Solas urged, gently lifting a hand. “I don’t mean to cut you off, although your exposure to this world is small, you must realize how complex it is.”

“The orb,” Ellana repeated, regaining her composure. “What is it?”

“A legend made real, it was made by the ancient elves to thin, if not remove, the Veil entirely. It can make the physical in the Fade, or the Fade in the physical. The possibilities are endless in the right hands--”

Ellana's face darkened as her mind rapidly put into place the various possibilities and consequences that such a capable object could render. 

“The Evanuris want the orb and are hopeful that a dreamer--or you might recognize the Tevene word _solminari—_ could use their magic to uncover where or when it disappeared in the past. In _Fade Objects_ you describe that very process. Not only that, but you are able to determine how Elvhen artifacts worked, thereby offering an additional instructional manual.” 

Solas stopped speaking in the event Ellana had any follow-up questions. He was greeted instead by a somber expression, one he was not sure was contemplative or angry, so he continued speaking, each word unfurling a bit of the pressure of carrying such a secret for so long. 

“After some debate, I wrote the review, very strategically to discredit your work so that the Evanurius would think you were mistaken, but not enough that you would lose your well-earned place in academia. When I wrote the review you were an anonymous scholar. I _never_ thought--would _never_ expect to meet you. We were in separate disciplines and were never going to cross paths.” 

Solas could no longer repress the emotion in his voice, “ _Fade Objects_ is unique, demonstrating a subtlety I have rarely come across. How could it not be?” 

Ellana looked up at him with some uncertainty. Although it was a weak signal, he could feel her mana passing over his skin like excited butterflies. His heart quickened a bit, thinking that he might be forgiven. 

He drew a large breath, clenching his eyes, drawing upon his resolve to tell Ellana the whole of his feelings: “You are lovely.” 

“Sweet talker,” She clucked her tongue to scold him, shaking her head. A needful look surfaced in her eyes, it reminded him of when they had kissed on her bed. He wondered if she, too, recalled those moments as he returned the gaze.

“I understand that it is an unworthy thing for me to say as I have lied to you,” Solas offered with hope, he was doing his best not to gawk at Ellana too much as she grinned back at him. “Not only about the book, but about the life I live.” 

Ellana was about to respond when Leliana burst in, the door loudly slamming against the wall, ricocheting shut. The petite Orleisian spy was wearing her typical purple velvet tracksuit, shaking her head, sitting down with a loud thud, putting her feet up on the table. 

“Solas has updated you about the orb now,” The Nightengale chirped. “Good.” 

Observing Leliana's tell, her left eye twitching, Solas knew her light demeanor was a farce. She was furious at him. 

The art historian nodded in agreement, an apprehensive expression flashing over her face. Solas respected that she knew enough not to trust the Nightingale. Watching Ellana he marveled as she revealed as little information as possible as she relayed the report to Leliana about what had passed in the Fade. Several accounts of which, Solas noted, did not line up with his memory. 

_Is she willingly deceiving Leliana? Or does she not remember clearly?_

“Briala is concerned the library is dangerous,” Leliana announced after Ellana had finished her story, focusing on Solas again. _A distraction technique._ “I don’t understand what happened.” 

“What drew Ellana to the library, or what magic was activated, I can’t say exactly.” Solas had several theories he wasn’t going to share. “The space seems to be an environment that supports a direct connection with the Fade. Dreamers were much more common, if you recall, among the Ancient Elvhen.” 

“This is all so much,” Ellana lamented, for the first time Solas saw her uncharacteristically flabbergasted, the weight of what had passed over the last day, if not the last few months, were obviously wearing on her. “Where did--Wynne?”

“Wynne was sent back with a driver to Val Royeaux. She wouldn’t leave until determining you were fine, and I’m not sure she accepts our explanation of a gas leak, but she’s signed an NDA. Rodderick on the other hand--”

Ellana instinctively flinched. 

“I think it is time for Rodderick to be transferred to a little chapel by the sea.” Leliana’s eyes gleamed. “He is, after all, supposed to be on sabbatical.” 

“That easily?” Ellana sighed. 

Leliana nodded. 

"What about the Department of Art History--the bus has left?" 

"You were meeting with the curator of Ancient Artifacts of the Elvhen, Tevene, and Orlesian world. An impromptu catch-up. No need to wait for the bus, after all, it is Friday." 

"What now?" Solas asked. The lack of resistance from Leliana worried him. 

“Perhaps we can continue this conversation on another day,” Leliana offered. “You must want to go home, Dr. Lavellan?”

“I can go home? No experiments or--” Ellana was doe-eyed, her voice a high pitch." 

“We are a security agency,” Leliana laughed. “I don’t think you are a threat. Unless of course, you want to tear down the Veil.” 

“Hardly," Ellana laughed. "I’m an art historian. All I want to do is--”

“Live your life in peace,” Leliana finished in a supportive tone, standing to place a comforting hand on the elf’s shoulder. “I can get you a car?” 

“A car?” Ellana looked directly at Solas as if asking permission. Her eyes appeared glazed over, almost as if her thoughts were muzzled. and Solas noted that she appeared to be weakening. “I don't know if I can drive?” 

Solas glanced at the art historian quizzically. Ellana didn't sound like herself, he was worried that she wasn't thinking clearly if she assumed that she would be the one driving. 

“Would you like me to drive you home, Dr. Lavellan?” Solas offered much to Leliana’s bemusement. He expected that she would follow-up with him as soon as he had deposited the scholar safely at her apartment. 

Ellana nodded, her eyes blinking rapidly as if fighting to stay awake. 

“Alright,” Solas said, jiggling the keys in his pocket. He wanted to get Ellana as far away from the Inquisition headquarters as possible. It was a cursed place. “Leliana, let’s go find a blanket for Dr. Lavellan.”

Stepping outside the room, Leliana turned to him with an impish grin. When they reached a supply room, filled with survival gear and other supplies, she whispered under her breath. “I noticed you didn’t tell her about Mythal--”

“Another day,” Solas shortly replied, bristling at the spymistress’ continued interest in his personal affairs. He could never be sure if she was a friend, or somehow moving him around an imaginary chessboard. 

Leliana parted her lips, about to speak, but thought otherwise. The frown returned. 

Ellana's shaking did not improve on the walk to Solas' car in the heated underground garage. Her gait was unsteady, and several times they had to pause for the scholar to gather her bearings, his arm firmly around her waist as he kept her upwards. It concerned him further to hear zero protests as he guided her into the passenger seat. Or when he wrapped her in a blanket, carefully buckling a seat belt over her shaking body. 

_I'll suggest going to the hospital if she doesn't improve in the next hour or so._ He thought to himself, turning the radio off, really so he could peak at Ellana out of the corner of his eye. 

Before he could maneuver the car out of the Winter Palace security checkpoints, Ellana had fallen asleep, curled up on her side towards the window. Noting that her breathing was steady, Solas felt his anxiety abate a bit. 

As he was about to merge on the highway back to Val Royeaux, Ellana sprung up in her seat to glare at him. She was decisively not weak, and incredibly angry. Swallowing nervously, he tried not to swerve the vehicle out of surprise. 

_Creators, all that demureness was all a rouse to throw Leliana off._

Solas couldn't help but appreciate just how cunning the art historian was sitting next to him. He had been fooled. 

"What of that was bullshit?" Ellana burst out in a sharp voice, her arms crossed. 

It was hard for Solas to concentrate on the road considering the creative Elvhen curses that continued to fall out of Ellana's mouth like a waterfall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I spent the week writing a one-shot 
> 
> Solas is reluctant when Ellana asks him to join her at the Dalish encampment. As of late things are more complicated between them, and he wants to kiss her again. Somewhere along the way she decides to lure the Golden Halla with strawberries. It's partially based in legend, after all. Or so Ellana thinks.
> 
> you can find here if you are interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742323


	35. The One Where Lavellen and Solas Sit In A Traffic Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas would be a very cautious and law-abiding driver with zero road rage. 
> 
> Ellana probably would not be.

**CHAPTER 35**

"Was what you said true?" Ellana repeated. “About the review and the orb?” 

Her anger was still hot like a flame. However, Ellana calmed a bit, seeing how her harsh questions caused Solas’ hands to shake as he gripped the steering wheel. A storm was coming, the clouds dark and ominous, and she did not want to inadvertently cause a car crash. Sinking down in the passenger seat, she pulled the scratchy blanket up underneath her chin, waiting for Solas to answer. 

Her memories of the library and the Fade were fragmentary. The experience had transformed her in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. For the first time in a month, her mind was clear of whispers. Although she was still unclear on their exact meaning, or source, uncovering a small piece of the mystical puzzle comforted Ellana. 

Not to mention Professor Fen’Harel’s confession about why he had written the polemic of _Fade Objects._ She had some sympathy for his motivations, even if she thought them somewhat patronizing. A small part of her enjoyed, however, that he had finally admitted the truth--and called her lovely. 

“Everything we spoke about in that room was honest,” Solas continued, his eyes not wavering from the asphalt. Traffic was heavy. “There were, however, several omissions of my suspicions of what happened and why.” 

He paused, glancing up at the rearview mirror to let a car pass them by. 

“I have to admit,” Solas continued, “That was quite a performance, I was fooled. Leliana underestimates you. It was clever to continue that charade.” 

Ellana wasn’t sure what had compelled her to act in such a way in front of the red-haired woman. She knew that she didn’t care for Leliana’s treatment of her as a pawn, or the velvet of the purple tracksuit she almost always seemed to wear. Only, she had thought Solas and Leliana to be playing the same game. 

“I thought you and Leliana were friends?” Ellana quieted, leaning back in her seat. She made a mental note to ask about the ‘omissions’ later. 

“That is complicated. I trust Leliana with my life, but I think we disagree with what my life should be like. I’ve attempted to retire from consulting for years. My research, as you can understand now, is too invaluable to be let go.” 

It was drizzling. Heavy gray clouds, almost pitch black, threatened to storm any moment. Along the edges of the highway, Ellana could make out the branches of trees convulsing in a brutal wind storm. 

Ellana took out her phone. Pulling up Fenris’ contact details she hesitated. She wanted to tell him the whole story of what had passed in the library. Knowing how much magic frightened him, she wasn’t sure how to verbalize an ancient spirit drawing her to the Fade and giving her an otherworldly mission to seek out a legendary object. 

“You shouldn’t text sensitive information” Solas advised with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but it is easy to hack.” 

“Am I being followed? Should I be worried?” 

“I don’t know,” Solas answered with another bitter sigh. “I’m only ever given so much of the picture. I wouldn’t want to imply that the Inquisition is dangerous. It does serve to protect, only the mechanics of that can sometimes be morally compromised. Power, as you know, is rarely, straightforward or just. I’ve learned it is best to be self-reliant as a precaution.” 

Ellana was considering Solas’ words carefully, sorting through her life and trying to spot anything she might have missed, and what Solas’ warning might mean for the future. _What it would mean for someone in a relationship with her to be a part of such a dilemma._

“Are we on the same team?” Ellana asked, she had curled up on her side facing Solas. She couldn’t help but notice the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She thought it was the first time she had ever seen him truly happy and unburdened. 

Her instincts told her that she could believe Solas, but rationally she had trouble accepting anything he had to say after he had deceived her for so long. 

“I want to be,” Solas declared, his voice grew deep and steady, and he risked a glance back at her. Ellana grinned in response, an expression she saw reflected back to her on Solas’ face. For a moment everything violent and terrible that happened over the last afternoon melted away. 

“Why did you speak to that spirit?” She hadn’t wanted to bring up the subject around non-mages, and the look that Solas was giving her made her feel self-conscious. Best to change the subject.

“Oh, yes, the Dalish say that demons hate the natural world and seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living. But such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations, and, in doing so, do all a great disservice.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t you worried about possession?” 

“Spirits aren’t so different from ourselves, they are conscious beings with whims and desires all their own. A spirit can possess you, but it can also reveal truths about what the world once was, or could be. As someone who has treated possessed mages, the superstitions are often worse than the actuality, especially since magic is weakening.” 

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Ellana paused. She recalled writing her book _Fade Objects._ Although she had never dared to speak directly with the spirits that gathered around the ruins she had studied, there were many occasions where she felt that the bodiless forms had guided her towards a discovery, or nudged the environment to shift to show her a particular time and space. 

The rain began to pound against the windows in thick torrents. With the radio off, the only sound was the echoing of the water pelting against the glass. 

“What’s next?” Ellana asked out loud, a few minutes later, not just to Solas but to herself. Studying his regal profile, a sudden memory came to her of the Spirit of Wisdom revealing to her that the neurologist harbored feelings for her. _If not, love._

A murky feeling bubbled up in her chest, one that flickered between confusion and desire. Not to mention that Fenris was waiting at home for her, in all likelihood cooking an elaborate meal for the two of them to enjoy. 

“It's up to you,” Solas said. “You can search for the orb. Or, you can go about your life hoping to never see it. I might recommend waiting until you have some time to recuperate. When you come to a decision, together we can form a plan, if you so wish.” 

_Together._ Ellana fixated on the word. _Did Solas still remember their conversation?_

“I have to admit that I’m surprised you let me drive you home.” Solas looked back at her with a coy smile. Traffic was starting to slow, a jam was up ahead. _He did._

“Let?” Ellana teased. “What was I going to do? Go in a car chartered by Leliana driven by an Inquisition agent?” 

“One could argue I am an Inquisition agent, if there were to be such a thing,” Solas replied somberly. 

“A known one to me perhaps.” Ellana countered, “besides, I didn’t get the sense that you were telling Leliana all of your thoughts. What happened in the library?”

“My hypothesis is that the ancient elves made objects that were able to help bond the brain to the Fade or increase its ability to focus and use magic. Although I expect you to know more about that subject than I do,” Solas paused to let another car pass by. He was clearly a cautious driver. “The magic that dreamers have is unique as it bridges both worlds simultaneously. I believe that specific quality triggered the library to react to you, if not act as a conduit for you to enter the Fade” 

“You’ve been to the shrine, why did it not react to you in the past?” 

“That I can’t answer,” Solas shrugged. “You lit the flame. I did not. Although I wasn’t sure what to make of what the Spirit of Wisdom meant when they said they were trying to speak to you for months. Although sometimes, in my experience, it is hard to determine if a spirit is simply mirroring what they believe your truth to be, or their own thoughts and ideas.” 

The car came to a halt as the traffic stopped, moving inches at a time, and the two sat in companionable silence. Ellana was actively shivering, her mana almost depleted. Her keeper had warned her about what would happen if she exhausted her magic. An unpracticed mage, Ellana had never come nearly this close before. She mostly--outside of her research--used small spells to clean or light a candle here or there. 

“Do you have any other symptoms other than chills?” Solas asked, concern flashing over his face. “May I check your temperature?” 

“Nothing but chills,” Ellana confirmed while leaning forward for Solas to examine her vitals. Judging by how hot she was felt, she was definitely running a fever. 

The car was completely stopped in traffic.

Solas casually held up the back of his hand to press against her forehead. Ellana couldn’t say if it was the closed-in environment or the coolness of his skin on her fevered brow, but she found herself pressing into his cool touch, closing her eyes as they made contact. 

When Solas slowly withdrew, Ellana found him staring back at her. Making eye contact with him for the first time, alone, she couldn’t help but remember what it had been like that evening, when they had been “hanging out.” 

“Dr. Lavellan,” Solas interrupted, as her nose began to graze his. 

“Call me Ellana” She corrected in a dreamy voice, her lips parting, so close to Solas’. 

“Ellana.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you might want to sleep for the rest of the car ride? You must be exhausted.” Solas gently asked. Underneath, she knew it was a suggestion. A strong one. “Or perhaps call Fenris? Tell him you are running late?” 

She nodded. The mention of Fenris was sobering. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, 

“It has been a long day, I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself.” Solas shook his head in understanding, daring for a moment to flash her a smile laced with melancholy. “Let me turn on the seat heaters for you.” 

“You could have told me about the seat heaters!” Ellana jostled in an attempt to overturn any awkwardness. She felt embarrassed at nearly kissing Solas. Although she was certain she was not in a committed relationship with Fenris; she knew he deserved better. 

“I’ll remind you, that you hate whenever anyone fusses over you.” 

“True,” she admitted picking up her phone, pulling up Fenris’ contact info and dialing the number. The conversation was short and to the point, she was able to get out enough details that he wouldn’t worry, _too much,_ at how late she would be returning to the city. Or be surprised at who was driving her back to Val Royeaux. _“It was a very strange afternoon,”_ she had said to him in a clipped voice that she reserved for breaking bad news. To her surprise, Fenris had taken the whole thing with aplomb, more worried if she was ok, with very little regard to who was escorting her home. 

By her estimation, and the traffic jam, there were still a few hours left for them to reach the edges of Val Royeaux. 

Ellana was going to turn to Solas to ask a few more questions, only by the time she had found a comfortable configuration to lay in, she had drifted off into a dreamless and restful sleep. She was none the wiser to the smooth jazz that Solas put softly on in the background, or the reverential glance he’d occasionally flash her when traffic was monotonous. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note how Solas doesn't mansplain to Lavellen what to do. That is true romance.


	36. The One With More Spy Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I wrote the Iron Bull chapter my partner and I occasionally just say "spy shit" in an Iron Bull voice to each other for no reason. 
> 
> Welcome to quarantine romance!

**CHAPTER 36**

Solas arrived home a little before midnight. He had taken the long way back to his apartment to think over the disarming events of the last afternoon. 

Pulling up to Ellana’s apartment building, he was unsurprised when a silver-haired elf rushed up to the car, with a wave. He wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he would receive from Ellana’s live-in partner, but it certainly was not an appreciative handshake.

A gruff handshake, but cordial nonetheless. 

Solas had not lingered, except to relay to Fenris and Ellana instructions for her to rest for the next day, and not to use any magic. He wasn’t sure what to make of Fenris confirming that he could sense Ellana’s mana levels were low to the art historian as he helped her out of the seat. As far as Solas could tell, the man was not a mage, nor had she said anything so specific on their brief phone call. 

“Thank you, Solas,” Ellana had whispered to him with an affectionate squeeze on the arm. The words uplifted his spirits. Watching Fenris escort her back to the apartment, an arm carefully wrapped around her waist, had darkened his mood in return.

The way the pair moved was so in sync, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. 

Ellana almost kissing him in the car had been startling. He knew that such an action was more likely brought about by the exertion of the day, and the complexity of the situation they found themselves in. It had been a struggle for him to refuse her. Solas would admit to feeling tempted to pull the car to a secluded spot along the road and reciprocate if Ellana was still interested. 

_Keeping secrets,_ he thought to himself as he pulled onto the street his building was on, _cuts one off from others._ Telling Ellana some of his had unloosened burdens that he had carried alone. It was unfair, to expect, however, that any confession would result in an instantaneous connection between the two of them. 

Pulling his car into the underground garage, he took the elevator up to one of the tall floors where his condo, more a townhouse, overlooked a sullen sea. 

He was about to turn up the stairs to his bedroom to take a long and contemplative shower when he heard the sound of fingernails tapping on the marble of his kitchen island. There was only one person who could have managed to sneak into his home without detection: _Leliana._

“You didn’t think our conversation in the supply closet was over, did you?” The Nightingale said by way of a greeting. She was standing with both her arms pushing up against the counter, a large glass of red wine in front of her. The only colors in the whole kitchen were the ruby red of the liquid, and the purple velvet tracksuit the spymistress wore as a uniform. 

Picking up the bottle, Solas was disappointed to find one of the most expensive and rare vintages from his cellar opened. Revenge, he supposed for the tab he had run up on the Inquisition's dime. 

“Admittedly, I was surprised when you let El-” Solas stopped himself. “Excuse me, Dr. Lavellan. I was surprised when you let her go home.” 

Leliana smiled a bit at his use of the scholar's first name. Whatever her current game was, Solas suspected she wanted the two of them to be a couple. 

He walked to one of the pristine white cupboards, taking out a tiny glass that would hold a thimbleful of liquid. Opening the wine fridge he pulled out a sauterne. It was a bit whimsical for him to drink such a sweet beverage without a meal, but he was in a mood. 

“Oh please, you already know why I let her go.” 

Uncorking the bottle, Solas poured a small glass of syrupy liquid, wastefully gulping down the whole amount, before pouring another. 

“You want the orb to find Ellana.” He grimly announced. 

Correct.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas is the saddest man.


	37. The One Where Fenris and Ellana Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of past abuse and alcohol dependency

**CHAPTER 37**

For Ellana, life in Val Royeaux had been lackluster, if not awful. If there was one redeeming factor amidst all of the balderdash, codswallop, and moonshine of the previous four months, it was that the water pressure in her bathroom was fantastic. The bathroom’s gold appliances were tarnished but in perfect working condition. The oversized clawfoot tub, built for a human, could easily fit three of her with room to spare. 

It was wasteful, but she couldn’t help but sometimes allow the hot deluge to pass over her skin for what felt like hours at a time. Ellana would shut the door allowing any number of terrible incidents to disappear amidst the steam and fog. 

She was in the shower now.

The temperature was high enough that the small bathroom was completely filled with steam, the mirror fogged up completely with water vapor. Her face was turned upwards to the gushing spout. She clenched her eyes closed and allowed the heat to soak into her scalp and stream down over her shoulders. 

It was the last day of the weekend. Ellana and Fenris had returned from a long walk along one of the stone boulevards, stopping at a cafe for her to drink a glass of red wine while Fenris smoked a cigarette, every huff of breath and smoke hung in the air around them. It would snow soon. Until then, Orlesians would not stop sitting outside, cocooned in the down of winter coats. 

“This is such a strange place,” Fenris had observed when a group of masked nobles tittered on one of the courtyards along a wall of taxidermied long-extinct beasts. “Are you sure you want to say here?” 

“No, I’m not.” 

It would be difficult for Ellana to give up the achievement of a tenure track professorship at the University of Orlais, but the pastel flounces of Val Royeaux made her miss the monochrome and sleek crowds of Minrathous. Part of her was tempted to pack everything up at the end of the semester and follow Fenris back to the artist commune. 

Moving back to the commune might be going backward in her career, but Ellana wasn’t sure she cared for the ongoing games in the department. Although it sounded as if Rodderick would no longer be an obstacle, she had received little love from other faculty members, the school administration, or the city itself. It would be hard, emotionally, and logistically, but she could get an entry-level job at one of the big auction houses, appraising artifacts with fuzzy provenances. Or perhaps she could even adjunct at MIT? 

It could be a better life. _Was it even an option?_ It was a little strange at almost thirty to think of voluntarily living without plumbing in the middle of nowhere. 

Things were awkward between Fenris and Ellana since she had returned from Val Royeaux late on Friday night. She suspected, not as a result of Solas driving her back, but at the prospect of her proximity to another situation with strange and undefinable magic. The night she had arrived home, they had a short conversation. She had summarized as much as she dared about the brazier and her experiences in the Fade, and sadly watched as Fenris' face twisted into a silent agony. 

He hadn’t touched her since the conversation. 

Ellana’s musings were interrupted when she heard the door creak open, and Fenris’ steady step on the mosaic tile floor. Pulling the curtain open a bit, she peeked out at him.

“Are you planning on coming in?” She asked, in what she considered a seductive voice. It wasn’t so uncommon for him to climb into the shower with her, and she was hopeful for a moment, that he had finally been able to put aside his fear and be with her. _Why did such a thought make her have to suppress dreams of Professor Solas Fen’Harel?_

He nodded, catching her glance with a mischievous smile as he pulled up his shirt over his head revealing his toned abs, silver lines of lyrium curved over his biceps, down below the waistband of his black pants. Shutting the shower curtain, Ellana stood directly under the water, waiting with anticipation for Fenris to climb over the edge of the porcelain tub and join her. 

She didn’t have to wait long to feel Fenris’ arms wrapping around her shoulders. It was a bittersweet touch, loose and remorseful as if Fenris was letting her go rather than holding her close. 

“I rented a truck tomorrow,” Fenris announced. Ellana couldn’t figure out what he might be hinting at. “I can pick you up on campus after you’re done teaching.” 

“What for?” 

“I want to take you couch shopping. I think I owe you some furniture after throwing a party in your apartment in Minrathous while you were out of town that one time. Besides, I live in a shitty cabin with no indoor plumbing and sell more work than I know what to do with.” 

Ellana began to calculate what might motivate Fenris to buy her a couch.

It wasn’t out of any sincere remorse for her long-gone second-hand pink velvet couch that had been ruined with multiple red wine spills. That had been years ago and already fought over. She knew to listen carefully to his words, as whenever the usually taciturn Fenris strung together more than two sentences at a time, it was the result of careful planning. 

A sudden realization made her stomach drop. 

“It's over, isn’t it? Between us?” Ellana announced with sudden awareness. She wasn’t often driven by strong emotions and was grateful for the water of the shower to hide the tears that began to stream down her face. “I-is it. Are you mad about Solas driving me home?” 

It was a little dishonest, but she hadn’t told Fenris about the near kiss in the car. 

“No, La,” he responded in a painful voice “It's the magic. When you sleep at night, my head buzzes with the power. It hurts so badly on my markings and it’s so hard for me to push away…” 

“I understand,” she replied quietly, careful not to allow the conversation to drift too close to the dark moments of his past. She twisted around to look at him, she was greeted by two remorseful gray eyes and a nostalgic smile.

“I care for you _so much,_ La. The romance might be over, but the friendship is not.” 

“I know,” she choked a bit, the tears falling in earnest now. “We were really something weren’t we?” 

He nodded, cupping her face and using his thumbs to trace over the tattooed branches of her _vallaslin._ She wondered if Fenris was also remembering all their years together: the impulsive road trips, the late nights working on projects together, or the days spent on the beaches. She and Fenris had grown up together. In Ellana’s mind, ending the relationship was not only about saying goodbye to him as an individual, but a time in her life that was freer, with endless possibilities. 

As much as Val Royeaux had been hard, she knew that she was on a more concrete path now. One that would be harder to waiver from. 

Of all the times they had this discussion, however, it was the most cordial. She could recall bitter arguments and uncertain boundaries. This time, a small part of her knew, the separation was forever. 

“You _really_ thought the shower was the place to have this conversation?” Ellana teased, as she saw what looked like a few stray tears falling along his cheeks. 

“It’s symbolic,” Fenris replied in a sarcastic voice that was betrayed by a tender laugh. “Of new beginnings. I’ll stay for a while longer if you’ll have me--on the couch that we will purchase tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek against Fenris’ bare chest for what might be the last time. “I guess we are being very reasonable about things for once.” 

“I went to therapy,” Fenris admitted with a chuckle. “As you suggested the last time we parted.” 

Ellana had shouted it at him after a particularly rowdy party where Fenris had too much to drink and had broken several wine bottles in the main stretch of the commune. He was slowly destroying himself. She hadn't stayed to watch it, instead, she took the bus back to her apartment in Minrathous, refusing to take any phone calls from Fenris until he got sober. By the time he did, she was elsewhere living her own life. 

“I’m glad you took my advice,'' she said, the two were rocking a bit back and forth in the tub in a strange waltz. The seven years of love shared between them had transformed so quickly into something else entirely. Ellana had thought the feeling sad at first, but unexpectedly found a weight lifted from her. 

“You just like being right,” Fenris snorted, tightening his arms around her. 

Ellana didn’t respond, nor did Fenris speak again, as they stood together under the water until it grew cold thinking about the past. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to write a prequel with these two running around Minrathous with younger artsy Ellana, and an emerging artist Fenris. I wanted to write a tender scene of them deciding to end things. I expect, however, that in reality things are still a little fuzzy between them and Fenris sometimes doesn't sleep on the couch for the next few weeks that he's in the apartment with Ellana. 
> 
> Old habits and such.


	38. The One Where Vivienne Sinks Her Teeth In

**CHAPTER 38**

Solas loathed the annual Harvest Fest at the University of Orlais. Unlike the Hallow’s Eve party, the black-tie event was pretentious and dull. The dinner consisted of bland food choices and grandiose speeches by top tier administrators. The wine was always terrible too. Unfortunately, it was expected that all faculty would attend, _and_ an unspoken requirement that senior-level faculty would diligently sit through the remarks to model good behavior. 

It was fortunate that Solas was not on call at the hospital for the next few days. A hangover was inevitable. 

After reading lab reports for most of the afternoon, Solas had changed into a more formal suit in his office. Struggling to fasten his bowtie properly, he threw it down on his desk with a dismissive sigh. _It would be a blessing_ , he thought to himself, _if he was refused entry at the door for not complying with the dress code._

The short walk further fueled his ennui. The first snow of the year started falling that morning, and the effect was dazzling. All the crumbling stone buildings on campus were beautiful at any point throughout the year, but Solas liked this time of year best when every surface was covered in a pristine downy layer of white. He would have preferred to go for a long walk, possibly along the edges of the harbor, but duty called. _As it always did._

He was startled at the coat check when his cell phone began to buzz in his breast pocket. Taking it out, he was surprised to read a message from Dagna. He had left her at the lab, meticulously combing through data on lyrium’s effect on the brain, her specialty. 

**xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:00 p.m.** **  
**I’m sorry. I tried to change it.

 **xxx-xxx-3454, 6:01 p.m.** **  
**Should I be worried? Did you break a machine again?

 **xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:02 p.m.** **  
**No! I double-checked your order

 **xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:02 p.m.** **  
**And glad I did because it was not right

 **xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:03 p.m.** **  
**But your table number was on the portal, and I cross-referenced it

 **xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:03 p.m.** **  
**You are seated with Vivienne.

Solas laughed. Dagna was adept at picking up on the complex political dynamics that ruled the senior faculty. He had never said an unkind word about the manipulative but brilliant curator and department chair. Although he could only guess the concrete details that Dagna knew of Vivienne. His assistant, however, was smart enough to know his colleague was someone to avoid. If only, as a result of her on-again-off-again dalliance with Leliana. As much as the Nightingale had a tender spot in Solas’ heart, he couldn’t help but think the two conniving women were made for one another. _Why then was Dagna so upset?_

 **xxx-xxx-3454, 6:04 p.m.** **  
**Thank you for checking, Dagna.

 **xxx-xxx-1632, Dagna (Your Assistant), 6:04 p.m.** **  
**AND DR. LAVELLAN AND A GUEST!

 **xxx-xxx-3454, 6:05 p.m.** **  
**Alright, thanks for letting me know.

_Oh, that would be why._

_  
_Solas had prepared himself to run into the young scholar. Only it would be another thing to sit next to her and who he assumed to be her silver-headed lover throughout the entire party. He had not heard much from Ellana or what she planned to do about the orb, but given that they were emailing back and forth about the exhibition again, he assumed that things were warmer between them since he had driven her home from the Winter Palace.

Approaching his assigned table slowly, Solas saw that Vivienne, Ellana, and Fenris were already seated. Waving awkwardly, he thought Ellana looked somewhat eager at his approach. If anything, to have another ally as Vivienne was clearly digging at the young art historian. Fenris gave him a strained smile while extending a raised palm to a place card with Solas’ name and title written out in excessively intricate calligraphy. 

“Oh Solas, darling,” Vivienne cooed as he pulled out the chair. “I thought since you and Ellana were working on this charming little exhibition together, you might want to sit next to each other for this fantastic event. So when I joined the host committee--”

“Thank you, Vivienne, that’s very kind.” Solas forcefully cut her off, gesturing at a passing wait staff member for a glass of champagne on a platter. He grabbed two glasses, immediately downing one before setting down the other next to his plate. It was going to be a long night. 

“You could have at least dressed properly if you were going to pickle yourself.” The curator continued shaking her head in abject horror at Solas’ naked throat. 

“I will bear that in mind.” Solas dismissed, loosening another shirt button, as he caught an amused glance from Ellana. Her body was stiff, but he enjoyed the approving glint in her eye at his open rebellion. Although Ellana needed to behave politely towards the chair of her department, he did not. 

He listened as Vivienne fussed over Ellana and her outfit. The dress she was wearing was made out of a delicate gold netting that draped artfully over one shoulder and fastened at her waist. He was surprised after Vivienne urged Ellana to stand and turn around to see the voluminous skirt open down the sides, revealing a pair of fitted satin pants and metallic gold shoes. It was an avant-garde look, yet effortless. Solas noted that she wasn’t wearing any make-up, for instance. 

“She made the dress herself, you know.” Fenris leaned over and murmured to him. 

“I did not.” 

“It was salvaged from a thrift store. The whole bottom was torn off. Ellana has a gift to find beauty in unexpected places.” Fenris laughed, a small bittersweet huff, “She should have been an artist.” 

“She has an eye,” Solas agreed. He wasn’t sure if Fenris was lecturing him or making an overture of friendship. Either way, he was determined to tread carefully. Looking around the table, he saw that there were no additional place cards or water glasses set-up. Vivienne had set the group up for a game of survivor on her island. The two men would have to get along for the rest of the evening whether they liked it or not. 

The conversation continued at an uncomfortable snail’s pace. Occasionally Fenris and Solas would mutter something at each other. The artist was taciturn and looked out of place in the faux marble and chandelier interior. His outfit was formal, a black blazer and vintage tie, but something about the look seemed askew. Solas wasn’t sure if it was the rumpling at the edges of his shirt or the face tattoos, but Fenris was decisively cool, oozing a bad boy persona that made him feel rather humble. 

Eventually, Vivienne lost interest in Ellana and turned her claws upon the handsome artist. 

After searching for the artist on the internet in a fit of jealousy, Solas was surprised that Vivienne didn’t think to do the same. Fenris was one of the most well-known photographers in his generation. He had received renown for his grunge portraits of misfits and other misbegotten youth of Minrathous. A self-taught prodigy, he had been awarded multiple fellowships and awards, including the venerable Tehirin Grant, one of the most prestigious recognitions a contemporary artist could receive in their lifetime. He was not yet forty. 

“So you make work?” Vivienne said with a thinly veiled sneer. Solas noted that she didn’t call Fenris an artist outright. Such a term, after all, to her was an honor. 

“Yes,” Fenris said, cutting up his piece of chicken with disinterest, spearing a small bite with a fork. 

“What kind of work?” Vivienne tried again. 

“Photography. More video lately.” 

“Oh, really? Tell me more.” 

“Vivienne,” Ellana interrupted gently. “You might recognize Fenris’ work from the recent retrospective at the Museum of Contemporary Photography, what was it, three years ago?” She paused, looking at Fenris for confirmation. “Yes, and he’s the founder of Pauper Ranch, the collective outside of Tevinter.” 

“Wait, you are _that_ Fenris?” 

_So she had heard of Fenris._ Solas suspected that Vivienne had known the whole time. 

“Yes,” Fenris replied with a bored look on his face, spearing another bite of chicken. 

“Such inspired portraits. I think I saw that show. It was elegant, even if the subject matter was a little unrefined. Ellana, come to think of it, weren’t you in more than a few of the early works? My, my, you have known each other for a long time.” 

Solas tried to recall the photographs that Vivienne was referring to. The ones he had seen online had a few blonde elves in the background, but he didn't think any of those looked like Ellana. 

“I was,” Ellana said in unison as Fenris gave a disdainful “Thank you." 

“Well, isn’t that wonderful, Solas,” Vivienne unexpectedly said. “An art historian and an artist together. Rarely happens, but aren’t these two precious?” 

Solas choked on his food a bit before slugging another healthy serving of champagne to clear out his windpipe. He noticed the look of horror on Ellana’s face and resisted the witty comebacks at the ready for Vivienne. _Or asking where Leliana was that evening._

“They are an attractive couple,” Solas responded awkwardly, raising what was left of his glass in a toast. 

Mythal had raised him to be a gentleman. Vivienne was a bully. Rising above her jabs was the only way forward. 

“Thank you,” Ellana graciously mouthed in Elvhen as she clinked her glass to his, and Fenris did the same with his water. 

“Pardon me,” Vivienne said, standing with a flourish. Her strapless dress made out of white crushed velvet reflected the light elegantly. “I must go give the welcome address as the chair of the host committee for this evening.” 

The group glanced at each other in tense silence until Vivienne was out of earshot. 

“I-I,” Solas began to stutter. “I did not anticipate this seating arrangement,” He thought it best to apologize, even if the other two in the party were just as much a victim of what appeared to be Vivienne’s foul play. If anything, such a statement was obligatory. 

“Don’t mention it,” Fenris said, slapping him on the back like an old friend. “That woman is--”

Ellana shot her lover a warning look. A waiter came by, and both Solas and Ellana grabbed another glass of cheap red wine. 

Solas jumped in his chair a bit when a voice from behind him, shrilly whispered, “Don’t drink that swill!"

Turning, he saw Dorian crouching low on the floor, looking up at Ellana and Fenris. It appeared the magister had dragged himself over to their table on his hands and knees. Scanning the room, Solas caught Iron Bull’s gaze with a bemused wave. 

“That was such a set-up by Madame Blizzard,” Dorian whispered, twisting his mustache. “When will this massacre end?” 

“Another hour,” Solas answered in a doleful voice, looking at his watch. 

Dorian groaned, spreading out on the floor in despair, spurring a few faculty to shush him in the background. 

“We are going to Kirkwall after this shitshow for Varric’s party. Do you want to come too, Solas?” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” Solas turned to look at Ellana and Fenris to search their expressions for how he should answer. 

“You should come,” Fenris said. “Ellana tells me you collect. Some of the best will be attending.” 

Ellana nodded encouragingly, a faint smile on her lips. 

“Alright,” Solas assented, unsure what he had just agreed to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dagna is someone who texts her stream of consciousness and obviously set-up Solas' phone.
> 
> I might be Dagna irl.
> 
> Also, forgot to say I based Ellana's outfit after Rosalind Russell in Auntie Mame, the movie which has informed most of my ethos and desire to wear beaded pantsuits on every occasion (along with Life as a Buffet).


	39. The One Where Sten Shows Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to Han Shot First who suggested a Sten dressed in Rick Owens.

**CHAPTER 39**

Ellana was unsurprised when Dorian dragged her into the bathroom for a tête-à-tête upon arrival at The Kirkwall. Earlier that week in her closet-sized office over lunch, she had unloaded on him about the current state of her and Fenris’ relationship and the strange encounter in the library. As the group fled the stiff dinner for the coat check, Ellana had caught her friend scrutinizing every exchange with intense focus. Now in the tiny bathroom, covered in the Toile de Jouy wallpaper, she was face-to-face with her friend's perfectly coiled mustache dissecting the situation yet again. 

“Why do we always find ourselves in dramatic parties?” Dorian lamented, raising his hands up in an exasperated shrug. The dim light was reflecting pleasantly off the gold jewels sewn onto his jacket. 

“Well, it is the Orelaisian way,” Ellana responded dryly. The strange circumstances she found herself in now had happened so quickly in the Ballroom, that she was still catching up. “Forgive me, but I _do_ have to point out you are the one that invited Solas.” 

“It was more of a courtesy,” Dorian sighed, “I thought I was playing it cool.” 

Although she was admittedly a bit annoyed, Ellana laughed and hugged her friend. The last few months in Val Royeaux had been so unbelievable that a problem as mundane as two former lovers in the same room was reassuring that at least one part of her life had an everyday dilemma. 

“So you aren’t mad?” Dorian muttered into her shoulder. The gold netting of her dress almost filled the tiny bathroom. 

“You are _totally_ taking me out for pizza this week,” Ellana reassured him. 

“Fair.” 

“Solas and I do need to work together on this exhibition, as Vivienne reminded us. I thought I’d wait until after Fenris left to renew our friendship, however. I’m not sure why Fenris encouraged him to come. Male bravado?” 

“Undoubtedly. What a clusterfuck. I hope theu don’t enter into some sort of primal wrestling match. _Or do I?_ ” Dorian muttered before carefully studying the intricate prints that surrounded them. “Are those darkspawn playing croquet on a lawn?” 

“Yes, I believe so,” Ellana confirmed after staring at the wallpaper herself. 

“What is this preposterous barrage that we call our lives?” Dorian pondered out loud, twisting his mustache. 

Ellana thought it quite fortunate a frantic knock on the door prevented her from answering Dorian’s philosophical musings. Exiting, she was able to survey the party for the first time. The whole tavern was decorated with lights. The doors that ran the hallway down the bar had been completely opened up, each room revealing different groups of creatives and other disreputables dressed in their most experimental finery. To the left of the bathroom, an empty patio offered another gathering spot even if it was empty except for strands of paper lanterns and heat lamps. 

Scanning the crowds, however, Dorian and Ellana could not locate any of their party members. 

“They must be upstairs,” Dorrian muttered, pointing to a rickety stairway behind one of the doors Ellana had never seen opened on any of her prior visits. Draping the train of her skirt up over an elbow, she climbed up the narrow stairs to see that most of what appeared to be an attic had been cleared for dancing, a Tevene string band playing in the background. Tables to the right of the room were covered in wine bottles and empty glasses, completely surrounded by attendees. 

“Over there,” Dorian interrupted her pointing. Before Ellana had time to look, Dorian had gently pulled her to the dance floor, putting an arm around her waist to initiate the quick steps of the Minrathous tango. The first few moves were awkward, but as Ellana caught up to Dorian, she wistfully allowed him to slide her across the floor, and even swing her leg up around his waist.

The two landed in a dip near their table, and much to Ellana’s embarrassment, a number of artists she recognized from pauper Ranch, Fenris’ collective, raised a potpourri of mismatched glassware in a toast to their arrival.

Fighting back a blush, Ellana made eye contact with an uncomfortable-looking Solas, who flashed her a rather forced smile. The neurologist looked rather out of place in a forest green, perfectly tailored suit, amongst the leather detailed and paint-splattered jackets that surrounded him. She hoped that while she and Dorian were consulting in the bathroom that no one had said or done anything unkind to him. 

“Ellana,” she heard a reserved voice whisper to her on the left. 

“Sten!” She cried, hugging the qunari who was wearing a bomber jacket with an asymmetrical zipper. Despite the cold, he was also in shorts and industrial combat boots. Sten was one of Fenris’ oldest friends, and Ellana had spent many hours on the artist commune watching the stars with him around the bonfire. 

“I can’t believe Fen convinced you to come all this way.” She muttered, looking at Fenris who had shed his tie and jacket and appeared to be heatedly debating a Dwarf who was wearing black denim overalls and a beige utility jacket. 

“He’s grandiose today” Sten continued in his steady voice. “Not good for him, but it is his way. I will go with him to the new residency. He asked if I might come along for a time to help with video production. All must find their place, so I go.” 

“That’s kind of you, Sten.” The week prior Fenris had received a prestigious artist residency in Denerim that would run January through June of next year. She was glad, as although since their “breakup” things had remained cheerful between them, that Fenris wouldn’t have to immediately be thrust back home where he would live amongst the ghosts of their past. 

“This place, Val Royeaux, is rather unnecessary. Except for the cakes. Will you not go with Fenris, kadan?”

She shook her head. 

“Ah, so that is the way of it too. I thought as much. Is that why he gives the bald one a scornful look every opportunity?” 

“Yes,” Ellana said. She appreciated that she could always be straightforward with Sten. The qunari did not mince words. 

“The bald one looks at you in a way that I like.” Sten pronounced before lifting a huge stein of beer to his lips. “Give Fenris time, he has to adjust, I think to you having a new person in your life. Friends, I expect you will be.” 

Ellana was interrupted again by Dorian handing her a generous serving of sparkling rose from the Dalish reservation that she had come to drink whenever she was at the Kirkwall. 

Sipping she watched the lively group debate the minutiae of new projects and scornfully drag several contemporary artists within earshot. Laughing at the constant posturing, she turned her attention to the music that reminded her so much of the near-decade she had happily lived in Tevinter. 

She was interrupted when a reticent Solas sat in the empty chair that was next to her. It had been some time since Ellana had been this close to him, and the subtle smell of fresh laundry that always clung in the air around him reminded her yet again of their tumble on her bed. 

“I didn’t know if I should come or not, but Fenris insisted again, rather aggressively, at coat check that I should when I made excuses. I hope, given our history, that I did not continue to darken the evening further after the bloodletting at dinner by your dear chair.” 

“I’m glad you could join.” Ellana had replied, at first out of politeness, but then with the realization that she was rather happy that Solas had tagged along. Amidst the artifice and noisy festivities, she found his presence reassuring. Along with his continued forthrightness. 

“This is quite a crowd,” Solas observed wryly. “Although I haven’t been able to visit as many museums as I would like, I feel a bit of awe when I recognize someone’s name from an exhibition.” 

“I never realized how much I took it all for granted. When I first met many of these artists they were starting out. Sometimes, I forget how many accolades Fenris has achieved. We were very young when we first met, neither of us settled, perhaps I am only able to grasp how young now in retrospect.” 

The words had slipped out easily. She hadn’t meant to continue the charade that she and Fenris were in any way together. It was harder to correct the notion to Solas with an audience. 

Truthfully, she felt a little self-conscious. She had a few close friends, like Sten, amongst the crowd. To many here, however, she was Fenris' off-and-on again lover with no other personality. The portraits that Vivienne had alluded to had been candid snapshots Fenris had taken over her in their early romance. They had been his first successful series, catapulting him to stardom. It had made Ellana feel flat to be a muse, rather than an individual in charge of her own destiny. 

The argument of which led to her and Fenris' first breakup. 

“Fenris mentioned to the table that he is pursuing a residency in Denerim,” Solas announced rather unexpectedly. His voice tinged with loss. Ellana wanted to tell him that she wasn't planning on going, or that the two were together, only she was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder, turning to look up at Fenris who was beaming. “Dance with me, Lala? Do you mind Solas?” 

“Not at all,” the neurologist admitted, rising and extending a hand towards Fenris, which the artist took and shook vigorously. “I was saying goodnight, as it were. Thank you for inviting me to this lovely event. A welcome change after how this evening started.” 

“It was good you came,” Fenris responded with a courteous nod. 

“Good night, Solas,” Ellana said with a small wave, which Solas returned with a smile. It made her sad, to realize, that she had failed to comfort him, and had willingly gone with Fenris to dance. If it had been any other evening, it would have been easier, but somehow she felt younger and less capable than her current life allowed. 

She tried to keep from watching as Solas’ broad shoulders disappeared down the stairs, out of view, as Fenris spun her around the floor. 


	40. The One Where Fenris Has the Last Word

**CHAPTER 40**

Solas had attempted to leave the party without notice. Varric had waylaid him as he grabbed his coat at the entrance with a glass of rare red wine and a desire to reminisce about some of their early consulting jobs. Half-an-hour later, he exited to the patio for a few moments, thinking to depart through the back gate where it would be easier to grab a rideshare to his large and empty apartment. 

“Too loud in there?” the familiar voice of Fenris called as he lit a cigarette. 

“Among other things,” Solas admitted. Away from the racket of the party, he wasn’t quite sure what to say to the silver-headed artist. As the night wore on, it became gradually more clear to Solas that Fenris was not entirely at ease with him in Ellana’s life. Either in the past or in any possible future. 

“Congratulations on the residency” Solas offered in an attempt at building goodwill. “I understand that it is quite selective.” 

Fenris' announcement came as a surprise to him. Although he was uncertain about the current state of the relationship between Ellana and the silver-haired artist, he expected that if given time, the two appeared determined to find a way to one another. From what gossip he had overheard at the table, it was generally understood that the pair were together, at least usually in the summer when Ellana came to stay at the artist commune. Fenris might be departing for another country, but Solas understood he was not doing so to abandon Ellana. If anything, it was to give the art historian space to reunite after the school year ended. 

The two men stood in painful silence, eyes locked like two circling predators. 

“I want you to know, I’m not leaving because of you,” Fenris said a little bitterly. “Her magic--I can’t. If it wasn’t for that, you would be a non-issue.” 

“I understand,” Solas patiently responded. Mostly, because he thought the statement to startling for its correctness. 

Although he did not entirely understand Fenris’ reluctance around Ellana’s magic, he wanted to be respectful of the place that Fenris had in Ellana’s life. He wasn’t aware of many of the particulars, but after watching the pair throughout the evening, he could tell that the two had the type of intimacy built upon years of care. If he was hopeful that Ellana and he might work out a friendship, or more, Solas suspected that Fenris would always have a place in her life.

Replying with any of the many taunts that came to his mind would undermine that, so Solas remained silent.

“You should go now,” Fenris said, turning into the bar, flicking his cigarette butt into an ashtray. The door closed with a thud behind him and Solas was once again left to the cold night, the snow falling in earnest around the asphalt streets of Val Royeaux. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas sort of had this coming so I’m not sorry


	41. The One Where Solas and Ellana Go For a Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to lecherysweet who described Fenris as the type of character that drank at a juice bar and talked about the low carbon footprint of driving a motorcycle. (Thanks for always asking the best questions and supporting this project along).

**CHAPTER 41**

Ellana said goodbye to Fenris on a blustery Saturday morning. Although his residency didn’t start for another month, the artist wanted to get a head start on finding a sublet and scouting out locations for his work. Despite her concern over the increasing chance of snowfall, he insisted on making the long voyage from Val Royeaux to Denerim on his motorcycle. 

“Motorcycles have a small carbon footprint” Fenris had replied with a roguish grin before pulling her in for a hug that lingered a touch too long. Ellana didn’t hesitate to breathe in the smell of his leather jacket, with the sharp awareness that the next time they were together things would be entirely different. 

“You can always call.” Fenris had said, pulling back a bit to wink at her. “Although I expect that when I drive back through in June things will be ok.” 

“I know,” Ellana responded quietly, as Fenris kissed her forehead. “Thank you for coming.”

Part of her was tempted to ask Fenris to stay for a bit longer. All of her friends were traveling home for the upcoming holiday. Dorian and Bull had left that morning for Tevinter. Cassandra and Gaylen were currently waiting for a flight to Navarra. Josephine was driving, rather reluctantly with Zevran, out of the city to go home to Antiva.

Once Fenris left, Ellana would be entirely alone again. Although she was quite capable, and not entirely opposed to the idea, it was difficult not to feel vulnerable when a psychopathic prison escapee was still on the loose months after attacking her. Having Fenris in her studio apartment had lessened her anxiety more than any of the elite security that continued to follow her around. 

“I better go, La.” Fenris said. If his voice was cracking with emotion, Ellana knew better than to acknowledge it. 

She stood on the corner, hugging her leopard print faux fur coat around her shoulders watching as the vehicle, and her young beloved, shrunk into the distance. She was surprised when she took out her phone and saw a text message from Fenris half-an-hour later presumably when he stopped for gas. 

**xxx-xxx-1253, Fenris, 9:30 a.m.  
** Call me in a week. Will fly u 2 Denerim 4 solstice if bored. :) 

Despite all the uncertainty that lay ahead of her, Ellana felt lucky to know that Fenris would always be there for her. Without a true home, it was a blessing. 

Back in her apartment, Ellana collected what she needed for the day ahead. She would have liked to have taken the afternoon to herself to mourn and organize her winter break projects as the last day of the semester had passed without fanfare earlier that week. She had made arrangements, however, to meet with Solas Fen’Harel on campus to work through the rest of the exhibition for the upcoming spring semester. 

It was time to figure out what to do about the Orb. 

Using all of her research skills, Ellana had attempted to uncover more of the artifacts' origin and capabilities. She had combed through the rare book library and consulted with several obscure microfilms. No matter what she tried, or what source she came across, all she could locate was a smattering of obscure descriptions that might allude to the device. On the subject of dreamers? She had found even less. 

Ellana hoped Solas would know more that afternoon.

Climbing out of the shower, Ellana was blow-drying her hair when she heard her phone buzzing. Jumping through the bathroom doorway, she didn’t catch the name on the screen as she hit the call button, managing a frantic “hello” that landed somewhere between a mew and a groan. 

“Ellana? Is everything alright?” She recognized the baritone voice of Solas Fen’Harel speaking through the receiver. 

“Solas?” she responded quickly, trying to pull her towel more securely around her dripping skin. “Are we still meeting to discuss the exhibition?” 

“Y-yes. If you are still available. I had a bit of a proposal, however.” 

“I’m listening,” She laughed, surprised at how much hearing from Solas renewed her spirits. 

“I am skimming through the selections you flagged from the catalog, and I thought perhaps we could--that is if your schedule were free--go to the warehouse where I store them for you to see the objects in person. It's a bit of a drive.” 

Humming to herself, Ellana thought it would be a nice distraction from her malaise to visit one of the premier, if not the largest, collections of ancient Elvhen artifacts in all of Thedas. If such an opportunity allowed her to also clear the air with Solas, then so be it. 

“I would like that,” Ellana responded a bit more eagerly than she intended. It was easy for her to be eager, as after Solas' confession regarding the polemic, her anger had vanished. 

“Fenris, of course, is also welcome to join,” Solas offered. Judging by his voice, Ellana knew it to be a genuine invitation. She couldn’t help but like the neurologist all the more for it. It was, in a way, an acknowledgment of how he liked all of her, both her present and past. 

“He would have loved to come, but he left for Denerim this morning” 

“Oh well,” Solas responded ebulliently. “Next time, of course. Would half-an-hour be enough time?” 

“I can make that work,” Ellana said in her best impression of aloofness. Although she suspected that Solas and she might revive their “conversation”, after Fenris departed, Ellana did not anticipate it to be the same day. 

“Soon, then,” Solas said abruptly before clicking off the phone. 

Trying to calm her nerves, Ellana opened her closet, tossing half-a-dozen outfits down on her bed before arriving on a pair of high waisted wool pants and a soft v-neck sweater with quarter length sleeves (both black). After slipping on thick socks and gold clogs (her most water-resistant footwear) she was ready right as her phone buzzed with another message from Solas alerting her to the fact that he was parked outside. 

Throwing on her coat, and grabbing her purse, Ellana did a last-minute check for her keys and wallet and practically skipped down the stairs as she put on a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses. Pausing at the door to wave goodbye to her neighbor Thom, she jumped into the passenger side of Solas’ car noting that the heated seats were already turned on in anticipation of her arrival. 

“That was kind of you to have the heaters on,” She greeted Solas, buckling her seatbelt. Despite her self-restraint, she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yes, well,” Solas noted putting the car into gear and turning onto the road, “Iron Bull mentioned to me that you and Dorian rarely wear weather-appropriate clothing. At every opportunity, actually.” 

“He does not!” Ellana gasped. 

Solas nodded with a mischievous grin. Ellana noted that he was wearing an emerald green sweater and a pair of gray pressed trousers. The radio was playing a talk show of Orlesian news. Listening to the presenters, she could make out a fierce debate about the Crown’s effect on the recent downturn of holiday retail sales. 

She listened for a time to the dry voices, curling up in the seat to study Solas’ profile as he drove. 

“I’m surprised you are still in town for Solstice,” Solas said after some time. Ellana couldn’t tell if he was probing to see if she’d be joining Fenris later in the week. 

“I’ve spent the holiday alone for a long time. Things between my clan and I aren’t particularly warm. I was supposed to be their First, after all, and I left to live in Tevinter. The worst country, even over Orlais, where the elves were regularly used for blood sacrifice.” 

“I can imagine how that might foster some hard feelings,” Solas admitted, fidgeting with the radio before turning it off entirely. Ellana thought she caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“How far is the Warehouse?” 

“An hour outside of the city. I should have offered earlier.” 

Looking out the window at the old city boulevard and the blue walls, Ellana realized that they were passing by the harbor, turning onto the highway to the south. She had never been out in this direction before, enjoying the view as the car drove over a high bridge. Very few other cars were out that day. 

“Solas,” Ellana burst out with a sudden exhale. “I wanted to clarify that Fenris and I aren’t a couple.” 

Despite the advice of many of her friends, Ellana had never agreed with the idea of playing hard to get. Nor did she want to with Solas. Simply, she thought, either they'd overcome their recent troubles or wouldn't. 

“Thank you, Ellana.” Solas graciously responded. “I appreciate you taking the time to explain.” 

“I wasn’t sure how to correct Vivienne’s assumption at dinner, although I am sure she picked up on the ambiguity between us.” Ellana continued, the words tumbling out. “I won’t lie and say that when I called him after things soured between us, that I didn’t have the hope that Fenris and I might work through things.” 

Ellana was surprised when she felt Solas take her hand in his and tenderly squeeze it once before releasing it back to her. It was a bold gesture that made her heart flutter. 

“I wasn’t forthright with you during our, as you termed it, ‘conversation’ I understand why you would need the support.” 

It was hard not for Ellana not to compare the two men. Mostly, given that she had spent so much time with Fenris over the prior weeks. Although this visit of his was remarkably agreeable, the couple had often argued over, well, _everything_. Partially, given Fenris’ past trauma, and partially given her stubbornness. They had never managed to live together full-time, for instance. She suspected it would have been otherwise on this recent visit if there hadn't been an end date in sight. 

Solas was patient and a good listener. Steady. 

“Besides,” Solas teased, “You strike me as someone who doesn’t ask for help often. If ever.” 

Ellana listened to the cadence of Solas’ voice searching for any sign that might betray his current feelings towards her. 

“I resent that,” she said, a grin spreading across her face in spite of her efforts not to flirt.

“Although I will admit to jealousy on occasion, I enjoyed seeing you and Fenris together. It is clear that he cares about you deeply. I respect him. I also appreciated learning more about your life outside of Val Royeaux, even if I am still skeptical that you joyfully lived on a commune with no indoor plumbing.” 

“Jealousy?” She teased, a tad more hopeful than was becoming. Solas’ compassionate response had surprised her. Although she did not intend to rush into a new relationship, Ellana saw a flash of what it would be like to be with Solas. A man she was learning was kind underneath his reserved exterior. 

Solas self-consciously laughed, rubbing his head with a spare hand as the car came to a stop at a traffic light. The area they were driving through was suburban sprawl, a landscape of identical houses sprinkled with strip malls. 

“Would you like a coffee?” Solas offered, spotting one of the drive-through patisseries that Orleasians publicly sneered at but secretly loved in droves. 

“Are you changing the subject?” 

“Yes, very purposefully,” Solas said, not waiting for her to decisively answer before turning into the lane. “What is your order?” 

“Iced chai tea, extra shot of espresso,” Ellana muttered, pulling out a bill from her purse only to have Solas wave it away. 

“Thank you,” she said when he handed the cup to her. Despite her persistence, he wouldn’t let her pay. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Let someone fuss over you for once.” Solas had cooly responded. Ellana would usually have protested at such a pronouncement, but the affection in his voice made her preen, her hands smoothing her hair. 

The two sat for some time in silence sipping on their drinks in peace. Ellana texting with Dorian when Solas interrupted her thoughts again. 

“Ellana, I have to tell you, now that things are more open between us. I volunteered the idea of the exhibition to Vivienne as part of my consulting work. To keep an eye on you in the event that the Evanurius discovered your book. Although, I hope you know how much I enjoy the project now.” 

“I should have assumed as much,” Ellana responded. “Does Vivienne know? That might explain whatever caused her to seat everyone at the same table.” 

“Vivienne and Leilana are occasional lovers,” Solas admitted. Ellana noted he could barely repress a smile at her shrill gasp at the revelation. 

“What? You’re joking. I thought Vivienne was married to a Duke?” 

“She is,” Solas shrugged. “Although, he is years older than her. Very feeble these days. Leliana snuck in a few years ago when he started to struggle with dementia. I suspect they talk about us, as we gossip about them now.” 

“Solas,” Ellana said searchingly. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m glad that we can be honest with one another. This conversation feels different, lighter, perhaps.” 

“I agree,” Solas continued earnestly, taking her hand in his own again, this time, holding it longer as his eyes remained fixed on the road. Ellana was surprised at how much of a jolt she felt at the chaste touch. 

“Does Leliana know about--”

“Yes. Although I did not volunteer that information to her willingly. Underneath her ruthlessness is a caring heart. It's possible that Vivienne and her had a falling out, as they are wont to do, which might explain last weekend.” 

“Are we being followed now?” 

“Undoubtedly. I believe I recognized several unmarked cars. Only, I understand the intention is not to surveil our activity but to keep you safe. Leliana has assigned her best agents to protect you. As much as some of her interests are misguided, I appreciate, rather selfishly, how seriously she has taken that task.” 

Ellana wasn’t sure what to say, instead staring down at Solas' hand still touching hers, resting on the armrest between them. She let it remain there for a time as she gazed out the window at the snowy farms, the occasional scarecrow peeking out amongst the barren fields. 

“Almost there,” Solas said, gently extracting his hand from hers to pull into a dirt road, with a do not enter sign. Continuing up the path, he stopped at a rusty looking call box, punching in a long series of numbers and then progressing through a mechanical gate. 

Ellana realized that the dumpy-looking fence on the outside was a front for a sophisticated security system. Passing through a thick forest of grizzled trees, they arrived at a large rectangular building made out of concrete and glass. Judging from the exterior, the amount of art that was stored inside was unfathomable. 

“Are you ready?’ Solas asked as he parked the car. Grabbing his coat from the back seat, he rushed around the outside to open Ellana’s door before she could manage to do so herself. She felt a spark of static electricity as she took his offered hand. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IRL Ellana is the type of person who wouldn't rush from Fenris to Solas, but we are on word 80k, so we are just going to speed things up a bit with the headcanon knowledge that Fenris is actually supportive about this relationship and will get his own happy ending. 
> 
> Note, Solas is incredibly reasonable when he's not trying to tear down the Veil.


	42. The One Where Ellana Touches Things

**CHAPTER 42**

It had been over a year since Solas had last visited the warehouse that held Mythal’s hoard of ancient treasures. After she had died, the Inquisition had tracked down her scattered stockpiles of ceramics, amulets, and other priceless heirlooms. The first time he had been given a detailed inventory list, Solas was struck with the depth, and fervor Mythal had demonstrated in her collecting habits. Over her lifetime, she had amassed an exhaustive archive of artifacts ranging from tiny stone figurines to broken mirrors. 

It had been easy for him to give away the rest of the estate he had inherited. The money, after all, had been tainted. Although Solas did not doubt that the circumstances surrounding some of Mythal’s acquisitions were nefarious, it was difficult for him to identify the right restitution. Originally, he thought to give the collection to a museum, if not one of the Dalish reservations. Still, he found many institutions reluctant to take on the burden of safekeeping--or would be unable to care for it entirely properly. 

So the unparalleled stockpile of rare wonders sat in climate-controlled storage, barely seen except for a skeleton crew of art handlers and conservators employed by the Inquisition. 

Upon reflection, Solas thought that meeting Ellana was kismet. While he was not a religious man, preferring to leave the questions of what defined and moved the universe to science, even he had to admit that the subsequent events that kept bringing the pair together had exceeded serendipity. 

Solas knew he’d never forget the loud gasp that Ellana let out when she entered the warehouse. The entry room was completely lined with a series of carefully reconstructed gold mosaics about five thousand years old. Each panel, reaching up to the ceiling, represented one of the several forces that the ancient elves believed shaped the world. As Solas understood it, the ancients had not worshipped concrete entities, so distinct geometric patterns embodied rather than depicted definite subjects.

There was probably no other place in Thedas that housed a complete set. 

“I should have brought you here sooner,” Solas a wistfully apologized. Ellana was not listening to a single word he said, walking to stand with her nose almost pressed against the small pieces of tile as if to memorize the entire scene. The sunglasses she had placed on top of her head threatened to fall off any second. 

“How?” She muttered in disbelief, not to anyone in particular, if perhaps only the air in the room. Solas didn’t speak for some time, leaning against the opposite cement wall attempting poorly not to be too noticeable in his admiration of Ellana. He had not brought here with any intention of wooing the art historian, but watching her wonder was an enjoyable side-benefit. 

It was a bit insensitive, but in the car, when Ellana confessed she was single, he had to stifle a giddy smile. Solas had resigned himself, after Fernis’ outburst at The Kirkwall, for the artist to remain for quite some time--if not indefinitely. _Not that he was planning to rush in again._

When Ellana tore herself away from the murals, Solas did not pretend to hide his smile as she whispered to him in awe, “There is material here for at least a dozen books!” Her hand was clasped on her cheek. 

“Pace yourself,” Solas teased, “This is only the entryway.

The comment earned him a rare grin. 

“How extensive is this collection?” Ellana asked, her voice was taut as if in a state of shock. “The catalog didn’t seem sizeable enough to--” 

“The catalog was only the highlights. Some of the objects are not impressive, mere shards and small wisps of textiles. There is a tiny Inquisition staff who continue to uncover objects or who attempt to categorize them.” 

“I didn’t think the Inquisition existed, Professor,” Ellana countered with an arched eyebrow.

“I misspoke.” Solas hastily corrected. After all, it was best to at least attempt to keep up some appearances, even if Ellana would not be fooled. 

Gesturing to a secure doorway, Solas could hear Ellana’s ebullient step echoing behind him. He managed to enter a seemingly endless string of numbers into a touchpad before a muffled voice responded that they’d be down in just a moment. The usually composed art historian was excitedly tapping her foot and fidgeting with the strap of her purse. Her nervousness abating the moment that a blonde-haired woman in a white lab coat opened the door. 

“Solas,” The woman, named Anora, greeted. He did not know the conservator well but understood her to be very efficiently minded, with very little patience for small talk or warmth. 

“Anora, this is my colleague, Dr. Ellana Lavellan. An expert on ancient elven and Dalish visual and material culture.” Solas gestured to Ellana. It was hard for him not to keep the pride out of his voice. Turning to Ellana, he continued, “Anora is the head conservator and in charge of maintaining the collection.” 

“Dr. Lavellan, The author of _Fade Objects?”_

“I’m flattered you’ve heard of my work,” Ellana responded graciously, shaking Anora’s hand. 

“I must admit it is exciting to have you visit the collection. I’ve worked with the artifacts for almost a decade now, and there isn’t much scholarship on the subject, nor scholars come to think of it.” 

“Thank you for taking the time,” Ellana responded with a poised bow.

“A pleasure,” Anora said absently, waving for the two to follow her up to the viewing room. 

Solas noticed that Ellana had to cover her mouth to keep from exclaiming too audibly again, Not that Anora would pay any attention. Such emotional outbursts, however, warranted, seemed below her notice. 

The space that welcomed them was a room made up of walls of large frosted glass windows, included a state-of-the-art lighting and heating system that allowed for perfect control over the viewing conditions. A long plastic table stretched across the length of the room. It would have felt sterile, like an operating room, except for the colorful gilded objects that were carefully laid out for study. 

Solas was curious to see what Ellana had requested for the exhibition. He had been in a hurry that morning when he had called Anora with the different barcode numbers that worked to register each object’s place in storage. Surveying the table, he observed a wide range of artifacts: a few gold trinkets the size of his palm in acid-free paper boxes, to larger animal totems placed carefully on felt blankets to keep them from sliding. 

Absently, Solas circled the table, looking down at a gold wolf figurine the size of a watermelon. Its snout was turned upwards, as if it were howling, a glittering green fade crystal in its nose, the reflection of which was striking. 

“Isn’t that interesting?” Ellana said next to him, attentively putting on a pair of white gloves to handle the statuette. “If you used the right spell, you’d be able to activate the crystal, and music would play.” 

“Do you know the spell?” He earnestly inquired. The idea of a prehistoric musical score intrigued him. 

“If only,” She shook her head. “I saw something like this in the Fade once. At least, I think it was music. By the time I grew close enough to observe the spirits, the words had changed too quickly for me to keep track of.” 

Turning, Ellana carefully picked up an iron headdress made to look like halla antlers. Pointing different features out to Solas, he was mesmerized as the art historian shared her theories of how wearing suck a token would allow the magic-user more focus as they cast spells, if not offer specific protections as elven mages wove various elemental spells in ancient rituals meant to bring about balance or peace. 

Although Solas had lived much of his young life among such beautiful things, he had never given them much attention or focus. Certainly, not the way Ellana did, her sense for detail and purpose was seemingly intuitive and never-ending. 

The logic of her selections for the exhibition, Ellana elaborated, were items that augmented the brain. It was common knowledge that magic was stronger for the elves, even if the scientific circumstances of why weren't clear. Although the ancient Elvhen did not have a thorough understanding of neurology, it was clear that the objects they crafted, or so Ellana argued with Solas’ agreement, responded to brain waves in a way that science had yet to explain fully. 

It was understood generally that magic was related to the Fade, which was separated by what mages, and later physicists, termed the Veil. Some mages could draw more from the “other side,” as they often called it, while others needed the boosting effects of lyrium or other rituals, like Blood magic. 

Picking up a circular clay disk, which Solas thought might be a shallow bowl, Ellana pointed to the different symbols carved along the rim, each running indicate a certain type of element. As she had seen in the Fade, the user filled the dish with water. The pool would flash different colored lights, which the elves would have associated with different forces. 

“What for?” Solas asked in amazement. 

“A game, maybe? Ellana replied in what Solas was learning was her lecture voice. “Divination?” 

“Have you ever tried to use your magic on an object?” 

“No, the only ones I’ve really seen up close are in the Fade or scattered art museums behind a display case. I handled early Tevinter objects when I was an intern in the Minrathous Museum of Art,” she said as by way of an explanation of how she managed to know the proper way to hold the artworks in front of her. “I also don’t think anyone has the magic enough to activate any of these objects. If magic is truly in decline as all the magic scholars say it is, I’m doubtful that any residual capabilities will be unlocked.” 

“You don’t feel it? The decline?” Solas asked curiously. He was still considered by all accounts to be a strong mage. His healing skills were largely unaffected in terms of strength, but the effort to draw upon them left him just a bit more tired after casting as the years went on. 

“I don’t know what you mean?” Ellana stumbled. A statement more than a question. Solas was about to ask her to clarify when Anora knocked on the open door and wheeled a cart in with a peculiar-looking sphere on a stand. 

“I was able to locate the last object you wanted. I’m not sure what it does, but I have to warn you, it's rather a strange thing.” 

“Oh, I was so overwhelmed, I forgot about this one,” Ellana sighed wistfully, distracted from the previous conversation. She moved to crouch next to the large sphere-like instrument. Solas had no idea what it was. Grimly, he detected a thickening of magic in the atmosphere, the sensation of which he would liken to a buzzing field of summer mayflies.

“I swear it moves around the different storage rooms.” Anora explained, “Somehow, I’ll log it in one room, and it will turn up in another. It took me almost all morning to find it. It didn’t show up until after you arrived.” 

“Is that so?” Ellana said curiously. She looked about to touch it before looking down at her white gloves. “I should go wash my hands. Since this is glass, the gloves would not be wise in terms of a steady grip.”

Anora pointed down the hallway, and Ellana stomped off. Her clogs echoed. Solas noticed for the first time that, in her excitement, Ellana had yet to remove her leopard-patterned faux fur coat. 

Solas watched as Anora picked up the artifact out of its base to place it on an empty felt blanket. The sphere was made out of heavy amethyst glass with platinum vines curled around it. After placing some lead weights to keep the item stable, Anora stepped back with a satisfied nod. 

“Colleagues?” She asked with a knowing smile. Although Solas was, in some ways, not one for nuance, however, he did not struggle to pick up on the conservator’s hinting.

“Fellow faculty members at the University of Orlais, in fact,” Solas responded with a coy grin, his fingers placed over his mouth as if holding in secret. 

“She’s very good at this.” Anora acknowledged. “It would be wonderful if she could offer more insights into the collection. Most of what I do is guesswork surrounding material. No clue what any of these things do.”

“You’re right,” he agreed as Ellana returned. Solas noted that she had finally removed her jacket, which she carefully placed on a chair against the wall.

“I’ll leave you two then,” Anora announced with a wink. 

“What is it?” Solas asked when the door was shut again. 

“A measuring device is my best guess,” Ellana sighed, “But of what? I am unsure. It could have been used to detect magic or the weather? I’ve only read about these spheres. For a while, collecting them was all the vogue amongst Orlesian royals. In any event--” 

Solas enjoyed the way Ellana’s hands wiggled in the air as she eagerly approached the artifact, her words trailing off in awe. The moment her skin met the glass, however, a spark fizzled out in the room, and Ellana let go of the sphere with a painful cry. Solas was anxious when he detected the smell of something burning like eggs left on the stove.

Recoiling backward, Ellana was obstructed from retreating further by one of the glass walls, her petite form convulsing much as it had in the library a few weeks prior. Holding up her hands before her, Solas saw the unmistakable terror in her hazel eyes as her hands sparked with unrelenting magic.

One didn’t need to be a mage to observe how ferocious the sorcery was. If they weren’t careful, it would take over entirely.

“Don’t panic,” Solas instructed, careful to keep his voice steady as he slowly approached Ellana. Years of working in the Emergency Room had given him the practiced strength to calm frantic mages. 

The force threatened to knock him back. He was impressed at the discipline Ellana showed, her jaw locked in deep concentration as she fought to contain the neon glow flickering on her fingertips.

Spanning the distance between them with a few short steps, Solas placed his hands around hers, summoning with all his ability an incantation of dispel that made his teeth chatter upon casting. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who doesn't want to touch the art works?


	43. The One Where Solas Offers Ellana A Fried Brie Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a new friend who spent a very generous amount of time explaining REM sleep cycles and gave me some real inspiration for this fanfic.

**Chapter 43**

When it was clear that the peculiar magic had dissipated Solas gradually removed his hands from Ellana’s and guided her into one of the plush chairs placed at the side of the viewing room. Ellana could only stutter. Her body was frigid and hard to move. It felt to her as if she was covered in a thick sludge unable to climb out. 

In the haze of her rambling thoughts, one idea was clear: Ellana wanted to understand why the days in Val Royeaux seemed _so_ much longer than any she had spent in any other place. 

“Your body is in shock after expelling so much magic,” Solas said in his steady baritone, kneeling in front of her on the floor. “You will start to come out of it in a few minutes, I’m going to stay right here until you do.” 

As Ellana’s vision cleared, she calmed admiring the freckles dusted over Solas’ cheeks. She was loath to admit it, but she was glad for the neurologist to be there after such a fright. 

Once her breathing returned to normal, Solas moved to sit in the chair beside her. 

“I recommend we kept up appearances. Anora is on the other side of the building, and as far as I know, the only one in the warehouse today given the holiday. I’ll find her and fill out the paperwork to have the objects transferred to campus for the exhibition. Then we can go” 

Ellana nodded, still finding it difficult to string coherent sentences of words together. 

“We’ll speak when we’re out in the car.” Solas continued in a tender whisper, tightly wrapping Ellana’s coat around her shoulders as the chills were already starting to begin again. “Do you think you can wait for half-an-hour?” 

“Yes,” Ellana stumbled before leaning in the chair. By the time Solas returned, he found her slumped over fast asleep.

The cold air of the outdoors on the walk to the car revived her a bit, but over the next half-an-hour, Ellana struggled to stay awake falling in and out of a peculiar, shallow sleep. Before they entered the city, Solas pulled over the car at a fast-food diner. Leaning over in the seat, Ellana felt him softly put the back of his hand to her forehead to check her temperature. She smiled weakly when he brushed a piece of her hair out of her face.

“You don’t have to eat, I expect your feeling slightly nauseous, although it might help you.” 

Considering the way her stomach kept rumbling, the thought of food made her ill. Still gave her feelings of weakness she knew Solas was right. Something in the way he looked back at her in the car made her feel excitable. 

“It is absurd how often we are brought together after a strange magical-flare up,” Elllana replied despondently, leaning the passenger seat back, and crossing her arms with a dramatic sigh. “The library and now this. I should really start my own electric company. It would certainly pay more than teaching.” 

Solas chuckled at her outburst. A response she cared for more than if he continued to fuss over her. Truthfully, she felt a little embarrassed to spend so much time unconscious around the doctor. _A handsome doctor_ she had thought to herself several times over the last morning. 

“Let’s get something to eat,” Solas repeated turning the car off. “Take our minds off things.” 

Ellana took a little bit longer than necessary to exit the car as she moved her arms and fingers to fumble with her seat belt and exit the vehicle. Although she caught Solas gazing at her as if he wanted to help, he remained at a respectful distance. Adjusting her sunglasses, Ellana called on all her available gusto to make it through to the door and into the neon fast-food chain that specialized in frites with various sides. 

The two paused for some time, staring up at the brightly lit menu before Solas looked at Ellana. She was wobbling a bit, leaning against the soda fountain counter. 

“Why don’t you sit down,” Solas suggested. His strained tone conveying his displeasure on Ellana’s stubbornness to suffer as she grasped the edge of the table. “Do you know what you want?”

“Pick for me,” she muttered before pointing to a booth brightly lit up by large windows, “I’ll go sit there.” 

Truthfully, she didn't care for not being able to obsess over every possibility and configuration as she usually did, but she was going to faint if she attempted to stand for much longer. 

It was beginning to snow. Heavily. 

Pulling off her coat, Ellana had to fight back the urge not to fall asleep in the ten or so minutes it took Solas to bring back a tray of food. Setting it down in front of them Ellana was a little disappointed not to see anything that with any nutritional value. Most of the food were variations of fried potatoes wrapped in brightly colored paper inspired by old Orlesian symbols.

“What is this?” She asked, pointing to a buttery roll covered with a glob of red and white goo. 

“Lobster roll,” Solas said with an amused sigh. “Ah, You're a healthy eater aren’t you?” 

She nodded with a small laugh. After another unexpected morning, full of mystical shenanigans, the normality of the exchange was heartening. 

“I thought you were a doctor?”

“Doctors?” Solas scoffed in good humor. “Yes, but we are on a whole admittedly terribly addicted to junk food. Unless you can escape to the cafeteria, you are regulated to whatever you can string together from the vending machines.” 

Picking up a large fry, Ellana held it up skeptically in front of her nose. She had not had very much fried food in the past considering that Tevinter did not encourage the fast-paced lifestyle either Orlais or Fereldan did. Growing up, she didn’t even know about such a thing, as the Dalish grew their own food, eating mostly vegetables with various boiled grains. 

“Here these are sweet potatoes,” Solas said, shoving a carton of waffle fries along with a small container of what looked like aioli. 

Resigned, Ellana dipped the fry in the sauce and then took a bite trying not to spill anything on herself. It wasn’t her favorite, but she was starting to feel hungry. She hadn’t, after all, had anything other than a small bit of chopped-up fruit and coffee for breakfast. 

The two ate in companionable silence for a bit with occasional interruptions for Solas to urge Ellana to try a small bit of some of the other “delicacies” ranging from a hot beef sandwich dipped in au jus to a number of different dipping sauces with the fries. 

“You can say you had some of Orlesian finest now,” Solas teased her, holding out a paper package of fried brie bites for Ellana to taste. 

“OK,” She said after a few bites, “I am somewhat convinced although I’m fairly certain that I’ve consumed a couple thousand calories that I’d prefer were dedicated to wine.” 

“You probably burned that activating the sphere,” Solas replied gravely. “I’ve been thinking about the events at the library and this morning. Have you noticed that your magic has changed recently? Grown more powerful? Any other symptoms of it misfiring.” 

Ellana stopped to think, resting her hand against her cheek. 

"I didn't mean to startle you so abruptly by changing the subject. Although I do think it is good we talk about what happened. There aren't many mages left that can summon a spell that strong." 

“I’ve never really used my magic, to be honest." Ellana began with a small wistful sigh. "I learned enough from my Keeper, minor healing spells, and the like. I was never really interested.” 

“May I ask you a sensitive question?” 

Ellana nodded her permission unsure what Solas was about to say. Judging from his solemn expression it would not be joyful. 

“Fenris. Well, ” Solas hesitated as if studying her face to see if he should continue. “At The Kirkwall, Fenris mentioned something about your magic. I wasn’t sure of his meaning.” 

It took Ellana a couple of long seconds to find the will to answer. She was unsure what Fenris had said exactly, his past was not something she shared lightly. Laying her hands down on the table in front of her, she was surprised to find Solas’ extended his hand towards hers, palm up. An invitation. When she took it, she was greeted by a small reassuring squeeze. It was enough for her to unburden herself. 

Something in Solas' gaze made her feel as if she could trust him. 

“The tattoos on Fenris' face, and over his torso are lyrium. When he was younger a blood mage experimented on him, thinking that since Fenris was an elf that he would be more magical.” 

“I’m sorry,” Solas sympathized. "I've heard of a few incidents like this." 

“He can sense magic in the markings...” Her voice trailed off. ”There isn’t anything to be done since--”

“Lyrium transfigures the skin, making it impossible to remove. So while the short term gains of a more powerful spell-casting ability are hypothetically possible, it is really only a sensitivity that develops to sense magic, rather than create it. And Fenris is a non-mage.” 

Ellana confirmed with a small nod. 

“So, you can imagine that since I am a mage. That any moment I was producing mana would be painful to him.” 

Ellana knew since Solas was a mage and a doctor he would understand the subtexts that would include. 

“That’s difficult. I know you two care about each other quite a bit.” 

Ellana pulled her hand away and wiped a few tears away. She tried not to let the strangeness of talking about one ex-lover to another overtake the conversation. Judging from the compassionate look in Solas eyes, she felt that he was not trying to undermine any of her history, if anything, only to understand it. 

“He mentioned that he could sense my magic all the time,” Ellana continued. “Before it was only periodic, for example, when I was casting a small spell or emotional. You have to understand, I hadn’t seen Fenris for almost two years before he came to visit. 

“So it was a late onset of magical ability? In a short amount of time.” Solas mused. ‘Almost entirely unheard of.” 

A contemplative hush passed over the table, and Ellana nervously took a knife and cut the lobster roll in half before shoving it into her mouth in a single bite. 

“Solas?” She said after she had finished chewing. 

“Yes?”

“If we have the same capabilities why do you not experience these flare-ups. I know you specialized in magic, do you just have different training?" 

“I’m not sure we have the same abilities," Solas admitted. "At least, in total.” 

“Then what do you think happened at the Library--or the warehouse today.” 

“I have several theories after seeing what happened first-hand this morning,” Solas said, casually dipping a small handful of fries into a cup of ranch habanero dressing. “Particularly with your secondary symptoms. I think you should let me run some tests to see if you have a sleep disorder.” 

“I'm not sure I agree with that theory.” Ellana said shaking her head, "My routine is very consistent." 

“It's the way you cross back and forth from the Fade. Most mages that are particularly powerful or weak have some form of neurological abnormality related to the sleep cycle.” 

“Between this and the orb, I don’t know if I can keep up. Should I call Morrigan and ask for an appointment? With the holiday, I won’t be able to get in for a few weeks at the very least. I-I hate to think that I might have another flare-up, or whatever one might categorize these as.” 

Ellana couldn’t keep her thoughts straight. She was troubled to find herself racing towards anything that might offer her some stability. 

"You don't have to bear this alone," Solas said with a grin. "I am after all a neurologist. In fact, we might be able to figure out one dilemma in less than forty-eight hours." 

"What do you propose?" 

“May I invite you to my sleep lab tonight?” Solas said with a grin. “Otherwise you’ll have to wait until late January when Dagna returns from Orzammar.” 

“Why am I not surprised you have a sleep lab?” Ellana sighed before hanging her head in her hands and mumbling. “When will my life ever be ordinary?” 

“Ellana,” Solas replied gently, before picking up the empty tray and standing to take it to the garbage can. “I think we both know you are anything but ordinary.” 

The reverential expression Solas flashed Ellana on their way back to the car made her stomach flip with anticipation.

  
  
  
  
  



	44. The One Where Dagna Goes Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be like Dagna.

**Chapter 44**

Solas knocked on the door of one of the testing rooms in the sleep lab in a sterile hallway in the basement. The patterning of bare feet on the hardwood floors brought a smile to his lips. Despite the unideal circumstances, Solas was enjoying the prospect of spending more time with Ellana. He didn’t, however, want to seem overly eager. Clearing his throat, he did his best to appear neutral. Or, at the very least, professional. 

The drive back to Val Royeaux made him uncertain if his feelings for Ellana were mutual. 

Sunglasses on and arms crossed, she had stared out of the window for the rest of the trip. The few times Solas thought to ask a question, she gave elusive, one-word answers. He did his best not to take her taciturn demeanor personally, but it was difficult not to. At her polite request, Solas stayed in the car as Ellana packed a bag. When they returned to campus, she had quietly excused herself to her office. Around dinner time, he had texted her, asking if she’d like to share a meal with him, only for her to send back a succinct note that she’d scrounge something up on her own. 

Waiting for Ellana to return to the lab, Solas had sat at his desk, haphazardly reviewing lab reports. Dagna had stopped by, typing away at her laptop opposite from him. It was, after all, part of their regular Saturday routine to review the week ahead. There wasn’t much to report on, given it was the holiday. Solas was even released from work at the hospital for the next couple of weeks, barring any great emergency. 

Occasionally, Dagna would ask an abstract question that probed at the events of the morning. Although Solas wholeheartedly trusted his assistant, he didn’t want to give away his hypotheses about Ellana’s magic. In the event of Inquisition, or even worse Evanurius, subterfuge. 

“I can’t believe you brought Dr. Lavellan to Bon Frites!” Dagana had almost shouted when he finished his summary. 

Solas acknowledged that the pit stop to the fast-food joint was not his smoothest moment, but at the time, he thought convenience would be preferable to any elaborate gesture. 

“I seem to recall that their number five combo is one of your ‘go-to’s.’”

“Respectfully, Professor, I thought you _liked_ Dr. Lavellan.” Dagna shook her head, quickly correcting herself, “as a colleague, of course.” 

“Does a fry basket not convey the sentiment of like?” Solas responded dryly. Never one to pick up on sarcasm, Dagna responded with genuine enthusiasm. 

“Can I suggest the obvious and say you should take Dr. Lavellan to dinner, _L’Astral_ or _La Lune et le Renard_. Oh, or somewhere with a good wine list, a view? I can make a reservation…”

Solas laughed, uplifted at his assistant’s optimism. 

“What sort of restaurant is this _La Lune et le Renard_? What a name.” 

“Oh my god, Professor. _Seriously?_ Do you not read the newspaper? It is the most popular restaurant in the city!” Dagna exclaimed. “Tevinter-Orlesian fusion.” 

“Ah, I see why you would suggest that for Dr. Lavellan.” 

He ignored the sound of Dagna clattering away at her keyboard, picking up a lab report; momentarily distracted by a few mistakes one of his students had made in their research, he made a few notes in his distinctive all-caps handwriting. 

“Evening after tomorrow.” Dagna proclaimed with a triumphant grin. “You have a reservation at seven for two at _La Lune et le Renard_.” 

“Was that necessary? I don’t know if--” 

“Sorry, Professor,” Dagna shouted, scooping up all her papers and computer and prancing out of his office, “I have to get Dr. Lavellan’s room ready in the sleep lab. I’ll see you closer to the art historian’s bedtime.” 

“Dagna,” Solas called out down the hallway after her. 

“Professor,” Dagna yelled back. “I’ll remind you that right now is my scheduled dissertation writing time.” 

“I’ll remind you this is insubordination,” Solas retorted in a whisper. Loud enough that he knew Dagna heard as she slammed her door shut. 

Now, standing in front of the door, an hour or so later, Solas was reminded of the reservation at _La Lune et le Renard._

How would he manage to ask Ellana? 

He was relieved when she opened the door to see her smiling. She had changed into a set of black leggings and an MIT sweatshirt, the same one she had worn the night Solas had driven her home from the hospital. Her hair was falling in tousled waves below her shoulders, curly and blonde. Stripped of the usual poised apparel, she looked relaxed.

“Welcome,” Ellana said, with a sweeping bow and a flippant smirk. “Although, on second thought, I probably should find different verbiage considering this is your lab.” 

“I appreciate the gesture all the same,” Solas said, stepping into the doorway as Ellana flopped down on the edge of the bed, leaning back with her arms behind her. Stepping into the room, Solas awkwardly held up a coil of electrodes used to track different sleep cycles.

The sleep lab rooms were sparingly furnished: a king-sized bed with a nightstand on either side. No pictures or other decorations were on the wall. A set of blackout curtains hung over a window into the observation room. Ellana had drawn them shut. The light was soft, the only source of a lamp softly illuminating the walls. It was an adolescent preoccupation, but Solas couldn’t stop looking at the curved line of Ellana’s lips as she spoke. 

“You said you usually fall asleep at eleven?” Solas asked, glancing away. 

“Yes,” Ellana confirmed. Solas realized she had her laptop open. Assuming she was writing, he thought he’d make excuses to give the art historian more time to work. 

“I’ll come back then in another hour or so?” Solas said, looking down at his watch and quickly set an alarm. Holding up a plastic bag of electrical cords and their necessary accouterments, He begrudged every awkward word that followed “I’m making every effort to let Dagna work on her dissertation as much as possible, but if you prefer she could attach these--” 

“Stay?” Ellana interrupted, Adding as an afterthought, “If you like, that is.” 

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work.” 

  
“Oh, I’m not--.” Ellana blushed. “If you really must know, I’m watching the Hero of Ferelden.” 

Solas laughed. The beloved soap opera was infamous for its poor production values and never-ending, always shifting dramatic love triangles. He hadn’t watched more than a few hours of it outside of airport bars. 

“I never would have guessed.” 

“I’m _terribly_ addicted if you must know.”

Solas knew it was absolutely the last thing he should be doing, but he shut the door behind him, set down the bag of electrodes on the nightstand, and sat on the bed, his back against the quilted headboard. Running his hand over the sheets, he was pleased to feel the high thread count. 

“Dagna told me they make every effort to make the bed as comfortable as possible,” Ellana said, flopping down to lay on her back and looking up at him from the black expanse of the coverlet. “I don’t think I’ve slept in a bed this nice since the last conference I went to where the department-sponsored my hotel room.” 

Solas didn’t think there was any subtext to Ellana’s observations. Only he couldn’t help but be painfully reminded of the last time the pair had found themselves sitting on a bed watching a movie. The circumstances had been so different. 

“You’re brave to wear that sweatshirt on this campus. You know UofO just lost to MIT’s rugby team last week.” 

“MIT has a rugby team?” Ellana said, her face twisting in confusion. At first, Solas thought she was joking. Judging from the perplexed look she gave him, however, it was clear she wasn’t. 

“Only one of the finest in the league! You studied there for what? Seven years?” 

“You like rugby?” 

“I enjoy going to rugby games. On occasion, for work, I attend the Charger matches, depending on who managed what head injury that week.” 

“Oh, I am surprised to hear you do something other than work, Professor,” Ellana countered. Her voice sounded harsh, but Solas could tell from the coy smile she flashed him, she was teasing him, if not, purposefully testing his patience. 

“I believe that you are also prone to overworking,” Solas said, deciding it prudent to change the subject, “Shall we watch this soap opera?” 

“Would you really want to?” Ellana replied. He detected some hope in her voice. “I’m behind a few episodes and trying to catch up--.” 

Solas nodded encouragingly. 

Ellana nudged the laptop to the center of the bed and stood, coming around the opposite side of where Solas was sitting. Picking up the comforter, she slid in, sitting up against the headboard an arm's length away. Solas was grateful for the layer of fabric separating their bodies. He could feel the undercurrent of mana in the air shift from a calm and constant tide to a storm.

“I’m guessing you don’t watch movies in bed with your other patients,” Ellana said, absently clicking the keyboard so that the video played. Solas detected a dare to the edge in her voice. _Was she flirting?_

“That would be correct, although you’ll have to explain to me what’s going on.” 

“This is a flashback,” Ellana said to explain the flashing lights, “Cammen and Gheyna are two young Dalish hunters who wish to be married. Cammen, however, has yet to complete his coming of age ritual due to werewolves--”

“Why are there, werewolves?” 

“You have to suspend belief,” Ellana shushed him as a scene unfolded where the Warden appeared to attempt to seduce Gheyna, seemingly unaware of her previous dedication to Cammen. For some reason, the conversation took place outside in the pouring rain, and the main actor was wearing a white shirt that revealed their toned abs. A sinister orchestral soundtrack played in the background. 

“I thought one was to like the Warden?” Solas observed, “Aren’t they the hero?” 

“Oh, that’s the Warden’s evil twin, who has tied up the actual Warden in the Keeper’s aravel because he wants the werewolves to win.” 

“What a subtle plotline.” 

Ellana chuckled, turning to her side to face the laptop screen. For a time, the two of them watched the show in silence. Solas almost drifted off to sleep when he was jostled awake by Ellana clicking her computer shut. She placed the machine on the nightstand next to her before flipping over to stare at him with a small sigh. 

“Do you remember the day we met on the first day of classes?” She burst, “When we didn’t know each other?” 

“Of course.” 

“This might be a little silly, but I had the sense you were going to ask me out.” 

“Absolutely. It was all I could think about.” 

It was all Solas could think about now, in fact, picking up Ellana in his car the day after next and sharing a few dreamy hours over a wine list, away from all the turmoil that had repeatedly brought them back together. It was a romantic fantasy, perhaps, but a good one. Now would be the perfect time to ask. _Why couldn’t he find the words?_

Ellana laughed, looking away from him with uncharacteristic shyness. The mirthful glint was so much like the one she had flashed him when he fished her out of the bushes. So much had happened since then. 

“It seems like that was a century ago.” She continued, her face suddenly sad. “Not four months.” 

Solas nodded in agreement. 

“And now we have an orb to find.” 

“Yes,” Solas repeated grimly, “and now we have an orb to find.” 

His words were interrupted by the loud monotonous blare of his watch going off. The shrill sound was impossible to ignore. 

“What is that sound?” Ellana asked, her voice startled. Solas could see her scan the room as if searching for a threat. 

“I set the alarm to signal when we had to hook you up to the machines.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure how to respond to that.” 

“May I?” Solas asked, reluctantly reaching over and grabbing the bag of electrodes from the nightstand. Patting the blanket in front of him, Ellana moved over. He unzipped the bag with little ceremony, removed a coil of cables, and set them down on the bed, taking out an additional disposable container of paste. 

“I haven’t done this since my residency,” Solas laughed. A small nervous exhale. 

“Really?”

“Normally, my fellows do this. The overnight testing too.” 

“So what you’re saying is this is VIP treatment?” 

“As a matter of speaking,” Solas’ focus returned to the jar of paste used to affix the electric coils to the skin. It was more of a thick goo that dried when it made contact with oxygen. Using a flat tongue depressor, he’d spread a glob of the stuff to Ellana’s skin and then fasten the cord. The attachment had to be strong enough that the patient couldn’t tug it off in their sleep. 

For a moment, he considered suggesting Dagna be the one to apply the paste. Some of the electrodes would fasten to sensitive areas of the art historian’s body. _Clearly, he had not thought this through._

“It’s alright,” Ellana nodded, noticing his hesitation. “You can. I don’t mind.” 

“So we don’t need as many sensors,” Solas began in his practiced lecture voice as if to cover up his apprehension, “all we are really concerned about is tracking how you connect to the Fade, instead of, say, your oxygen levels. Fortunately, we have a few specialized cords that can pick up on mana. Which isn’t usual.” 

Unwinding the cords partially, he separated half a dozen electrodes, double-checking he had the right ones. Unscrewing the jar of glue, he dipped the depressor in and applied it to Ellana’s skin. 

“Ugh, this is gross stuff.” 

“Yes,” Solas laughed at her exaggerated grimace as he quickly fastened an electrode to either temple. “There’s pumice soap in the bathroom.” 

“I was wondering about that.” 

“Ellana? Do you mind if I secure the next pair to your lower back?” 

The art historian didn’t reply, turning her body and lifting the edge of her sweatshirt, revealing a stretch of deep olive skin. Solas paused for a moment, thinking again to trace his finger up over her vertebrae, but resisted, instead repeating the exercise of binding another set of electrodes to the right and left side. 

It was a strange ritual to find erotic. 

“Where next?” Ellana asked eagerly. She used the same tone of voice one might use proposing a road trip, or at the very least, a night out at a pub. 

“Below the clavicle.” 

Something had changed in the dynamic between them. Ellana was studying his every movement carefully. Her mouth subtly parted as she pulled at the collar of her oversized sweatshirt revealing the sensual curve of her neck and decolletage. Grinning up at Solas, he realized for the first time that Ellana was enjoying the whole ordeal. The awareness only served to make him more skittish as he stared at the line of her throat, almost dropping the container of glue into his lap. 

Resolving to finish the task quickly, Solas gracelessly moved one of the delicate straps of her bralette out of the way, stumbling when he heard a sudden intake of breath across Ellana’s lips. The mana percolating in the room grew tense as his stomach flipped as the tension built up in his body. 

“I-1” Solas stopped himself from speaking while placing the first and then the second of the final set of electrodes using his fingers. He did his best to repress thoughts of how warm Ellana was.

Handing Ellana the cords, Solas gestured to pull them underneath her shirt, allowing them passage. He tried not to ogle as she did so. 

“Thank you,” Ellana replied, biting her lower lip. She was moving inwards towards Solas before pulling back away with a sudden jerk. 

“You’re welcome,” Solas stood, packing away the leftover cords and items into their pouch before drawing back the covers. Ellana scooted into place and allowed him to cover her before adjusting the long wires attached to the art historian and plugging them into a machine located at the bottom of one of the nightstands. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Ellana said dreamily pulling, the blankets up to her chin. 

“ _On nydha,”_ Solas said with a wink, closing the door behind him. 

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain this is the only Solas/Lavellan flirt scene in a sleep lab I've read to date. :) 
> 
> WHERE WILL THEY FLIRT NEXT?
> 
> Submarine? 
> 
> Also the soap opera is totally inspired by Jane the Virgin which I am absolutely obsessed with lately. Cannot stop watching. Such an amazing show.


	45. The One Where Ellana Gets Ready

**Chapter 45**

“I demand you wear that!” Dorian’s animated cry echoed out from Ellana’s cell phone.

It was so loud, she was glad to have preemptively turned the volume down in advance of dialing her friend’s number. 

Ellana had taken out one of her most cherished dresses, Fashioned out of a fine-knit black jersey, the back of the dress was open except for a delicate strap down the center of her spine. It was a sensual feeling, turning around in a circle, as the strip of fabric amplified the exposed skin more than if it was left entirely bare. She couldn't wait for Solas to see it. 

“Are you sure it’s not too showy?” Ellana asked tentatively, “I feel like everyone at the restaurant will stare at me.” 

Unlike Tevinter, Orlesians loved to obscure the body with comical puffs and voluminous skirts. Ellana wasn’t wholly confident enough to wear such a voluptuous outfit in Val Royeaux.

“Ugh, I know this dress screams Imperium, and the Orlesians will never appreciate such true elegance,” Dorian responded supportively in Tevene, “but you look fantastic! Utterly and completely fantastic.” 

After searching for _La Lune et le Renard_ on the internet, she had called Dorian for advice. Ellana was no stranger to fancy establishments, but none compared to where she was going this evening after seeing the menu prices and photographs. The smallest tasting menu for two, which changed seasonally, was half her paycheck without the wine pairing. 

Grabbing her phone, Ellana laughed, seeing Dorian in aviator sunglasses, lounging on what looked to be a stone balcony, ivy growing in the background. The mage was sipping on a frothy beverage with a paper umbrella. There was at least a thirty-degree temperature difference between Val Royeaux and Minrathous. By the looks of it, Dorian was wearing a light jacket. 

“Thank you,” Ellana replied warmly in Tevene. “Do you mind if we continue the conversation in the bathroom? I know it’s awkward, but I need to pin my hair up.” 

“Not at all, my little nug princess. Anything to keep me from answering more questions from my parents as to when I’ll be an obedient little mage and follow my father into politics.” 

Standing, Ellana skipped over to her bathroom, placing the phone upright in an unused metal contraption bolted to the wall she supposed was to hold a bar of soap or another similar sundry. 

“That’s dire. Where is Bull?” She asked, grabbing her plastic container of bobby pins. The couple was currently vacationing at Dorian’s parents’ villa outside of the city. Ellana understood the relationship to be strained, although markedly improved since his marriage.

“The underground pool with my mother. No doubt, she is interrogating him when she can expect us to make her a grandmother.” 

“Oh, is that why--” The words came out in a muffled jumble as she was holding a few pins in her mouth, straining at her reflection in the mirror. 

“Drink number two!” Dorian snickered in Common. “Little thing I whipped up myself. Some vodka and fruit juice blended with the blistering lies you’ve been telling yourself about filial piety.” 

Ellana laughed, the pins falling out of her mouth and landing in the sink. Shaking her head, she picked them up, wrestling with the strands of her unruly hair. She knew that if she were persistent enough, she could fashion a simple chignon. 

“I’m impressed that Solas thought to make a reservation at La Lune et le Renard. I was hinting to Bull that we should consider it for our fifth anniversary, but it’s basically booked until the end of time. Did he use his secret-we-pretend-they-aren’t-real spy powers?” 

“All Dagna, his assistant. I am pretty sure she might have hacked into their registration system.” 

“His assistant? No! Did she ask you on his behalf?’ 

Ellana chuckled, remembering Dagna’s intervention. She had to spend an additional day in the sleep lab for another round of tests, where she was instructed to take intermittent naps. Around noon, the young scientist had strolled into her room with her rolling suitcase, all bundled up for the escalating snowstorm. 

_“I’m off to the airport to go home to the Holiday, but I wasn’t able to say goodbye to the Professor.”_ Dagna had interrupted with a mischievous grin, “ _Could you remind him that he needs to remember his appointment at La Lune et le Renard. I wasn’t able to tell him? I’ll miss my flight otherwise.”_

 _“Of course!_ _Safe travels,”_ Ellana had nodded, waving goodbye to Dagna without a second thought. At the time, she wasn’t sure what Solas would want with a moon or a fox but absorbed in her piles of research. She decided it was probably a project code name or something equally bland. 

“Err… Not quite,” Ellana admitted to Dorian, a wisp of laughter on her lips when she reflected on the assistant’s nudging. “but she might have hinted.” 

“Oh, Solas. Why does he struggle so much with some of the most basic interactions?” 

“Don’t be so hard on him. I think he didn’t want to be untoward after all that’s happened.” Ellana grinned. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her that a warm flush had spread across her face. 

She and Solas had been in her office by the time he had gotten up the courage to ask her out. Picking up a crate of books, she had packed up to carry out to his car as he drove her home. He had set them down on her desk, opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped himself. Something in that moment prompted her to remember what Dagna had asked her. 

_“Oh, by the way, Dagna wanted me to remind you--I think it was a star and a wolf?”_

_“La Lune et le Renard?”_

“Yes _! That is it.”_ Zipping up her coat, Ellana thought it was the end of the discussion. 

She was wrong. 

_“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”_ Solas breathed, setting down the crate of books and staring back at her with a desperate look that made her grab the edge of her desk to steady herself. She had trembled when Solas cupped her face, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb. The simple gesture, so tender, made her lightly bite her lip with anticipation. 

_“You have an interesting way of asking, Solas.”_

_“That’s not exactly an answer.”_ he teased, drawing back by picking up the crate of books again, “ _Do you prefer to hang-out?”_

It had taken all her self-discipline not to invite him up to her apartment when he dropped her off. However, they loitered in the car a bit while saying good night. She only realized later that she had forgotten her books in Solas’ car. 

“What are you not telling me?” Dorian teased in the present. “You have your hand on your face and the dreamiest expression.” 

“I think he made his intentions clear.” Ellana rotated around to show Dorian her up-do. “Does it?” 

“It looks good. Jewelry? Make-up? I should really open up a side-business doing virtual dressing.” 

“I hadn’t thought about either,” Ellana responded, ignoring when Dorian continued to tease her as she walked over to her dresser again, opening a drawer, and taking out a box of small trinkets she had collected over the years. Most of it was costume odds and ends she had picked up from thrift shops. She preferred not to fuss, if possible. 

In the end, the two selected a pair of earrings fashioned out of glass to resemble oversized black pearl droplets. She wouldn’t add anything else, thinking the dress was enough. 

After strategizing ways Dorian should or shouldn’t tell his father that he was never giving up on his art, Ellana dramatically placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “I am glad I slept so much yesterday and the day prior because the last few days have been non-stop. First Fenris leaves, then I end up in Solas’ sleep lab.” 

“So explain to me again, why was our fine doctor experimenting on you?” 

“I have a sleep disorder. Very manageable, but I had a fainting episode when we were working on the exhibition. Lucky to be with a neurologist who specializes in neurodivergent mages, I guess.” 

Ellana hesitated a bit, she didn’t like lying to Dorian, but Solas and her had strategized at length about what the implications of her diagnosis meant. It was better to keep the source of her power under wraps. She would tell him the whole story later, if possible, when she had time to process her thoughts. 

Frankly, even she had trouble believing everything Solas had told her. 

_“I’ve never seen anything like this.”_ The neurologist had remarked in awe, “ _In all of Thedas, you are unique.”_ It had taken him an hour of guiding her through indecipherable charts and graphs to explain that she had a form of narcolepsy that allowed part of her brain to remain active in the Fade while awake. “ _You bridge both worlds, simultaneously,”_ he had explained, “ _you have an almost inexhaustible amount of power--the implications….”_

_“How does this explain all the artifacts I’m activating? Why is that a trigger?”_

_“I’m afraid that’s your purview. Not mine. Although we should talk regarding what comes next.”_

Treatment? None. Medication might make the effects worse or effectively tranquil. Routine, lifestyle management, those were the only recommendations. All things Ellana had done for years. She wondered, not for the first time, if her need for order was not an intrinsic quality, but one that stemmed from elsewhere. 

The loud buzz of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. 

“Oh, is that him?” Dorian squealed a bit. “I thought your reservation was at seven?” 

Picking up her phone, Ellana tried not to stare too intensely at the screen or angle in such a way that Dorian might be forced to see up her flared nostrils. 

**Xxx-xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 5:00 p.m.**

booking four a parking slot 

“He’s looking for a parking spot, or at least that’s what I think his message reads as,” Ellana continued, “I thought he might like to stop by for a drink. The place is terribly fancy, and I know he’ll insist on paying. To be frank, I certainly can’t afford it. So I went to the store and got a somewhat good, but less fancy, bottle of red as my contribution to the evening. I figured we could take a rideshare from my apartment.” 

“Oh, so he can pick up his car later?” Dorian teased, “Stay for a while?” 

“Would that be so horrible?” Ellana grumbled despite herself to Dorian’s roaring laughter. However, she had other pressing items to think about, the memory of how Solas’ fingertips had felt tracing over her skin in the lab-made her chest pound. It was undeniable that there was a spark between them. 

“No judgment! Please, _please_ sneak a few pictures of your food in, and will you call me sometime tomorrow? Rescue me from the ongoing reproductive interrogation by my dear mother.” 

“I will, I promise! Thanks so much for the emotional support. I don’t know why I’m so nervous!” 

“You have what are called _feelings._ Romantic ones,” Dorian chuckled, “It happens to the best of us.” 

“Please give my love to Bull and text if you need it,” 

“Ditto,” Dorian said, clicking the video screen off. 

Ellana’s heart littered as she heard the buzzer of her apartment go off. Jumping to the door, she ran down the hallway and the stairs' flight to open the door for Solas to enter. He was wearing a gray wool jacket that went to his knees, a green scarf wrapped around his neck, and a matching hat on his head. Ellana was curious to see him clutching a brown paper parcel in one hand and a glass beaker in another.

She was about to ask what he was holding when he flashed her a coy look. 

“Don’t be impatient,” Solas chided playfully, nodding up to her apartment. When she turned to walk up the stairs, she felt a sense of satisfaction when she heard a gasp escape his lips. Adding a little wiggle to her walk, she was relieved to be in her apartment, alone with Solas for the first time. Hopefully, away from any explosions for the evening. 

After helping Solas extract himself from the extra layers and hanging up his coat in her entryway closet, Ellana picked up the bottle of wine on her desk to uncork it. Before she could offer a glass of wine to Solas, she could feel a light pressure from his hand on the small of her back. Ellana couldn’t help but arch towards his touch, her chest fluttering. 

Ellana was further aroused when one of Solas’ arms encircled her waist as his other hand thrust forward a generous bouquet of green stems, with purple tendrils spurting out from the top--irises just beginning to unfurl. 

“These are for you,” Solas breathed into her ear. His thumb traced her spine, stopping to outline each vertebrae. She had to suppress a low moan as his warm fingers traveled upwards. 

“They’re beautiful.”

 _“You_ are beautiful.” The baritone of his voice tickled the nape of her neck. 

Taking the flowers in her hands, Ellana clenched them to her breast, forgetting the wine. She appreciated the gesture. Turning, she faced Solas for the first time to see his bright smile. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel entirely vulnerable. 

“I don’t have a vase.” She muttered, looking away shyly. 

“That’s what the beaker is for.” Solas teased, his hands squeezed her hips once before releasing her. When he pulled back to go fill up the make-shift jar for the flowers, she admired how his suit pants and matching jacket hung over his muscular physique. She repressed any thoughts of what he might look like without clothes, and if she would find out that evening, on pouring them each a generous glass of wine. 

“There is a couch now,” Solas excitedly commented, setting down the flowers on top of her dresser. “Not that I didn’t enjoy picnicking on the floor.” 

“Would you like to sit?” Ellana gestured with the filled wine glasses. 

“Thank you,” he said, plopping down on the side closest to the wall, his long arm outstretched on the back. Ellana sat down next to him, trying not to feel too self-conscious as she caught his gaze following the lines of her body as she spoke. By the end of the first glass, Ellana was practically sitting in Solas’ lap. Her head curled up against his arm as she watched his chest rise and fall as he spoke. 

The familiar blare of Solas’ wristwatch interrupted the conversation.

“Did you seriously set an alarm?” 

“I thought Dagna would be very upset if we were late,” Solas replied practically. “Undoubtedly, she had to do several illegal things for us to have an enjoyable evening out tonight." 

Ellana went to her closet and grabbed a pair of black boots. They were a bit heavy, but considering that the windchill was below zero, she’d prefer to be safe than fashionable. Slipping a pair of wool socks underneath, she was glad to have thought to have put leggings on underneath her dress _even if it wasn’t the most attractive choice._

When the two were ready, Solas clicked open his phone, flashing Ellana a warning stare. 

“Don’t you dare tease me about my ability to use apps? I happen to summon rideshares regularly.” 

“Did your assistant have to teach you?” 

“Hush,” he said before triumphantly responding, “the car is here. 

Ellana tapped her purse to make sure she had her wallet and keys. Locking the door behind them, she was happy to feel Solas take her hand in his as they meandered down the hall and exited the door.   
  
The night was perfect.

Or was it?

The moment they were outside, a thick green fog obscured the street ahead. Ellana felt a chill go through her body the moment she made contact with the mist. Dread paralyzed her. A low rumbling laugh in the background. _What is that?_

Screams followed, piercing and dark. Something was not right. _Not right at all._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote this, I felt painfully American, mentioning all the different temperature variations. I’m going to throw out there that thedas would not have some sort of rogue nation that stubbornly refuses to acknowledge how dumb their measurement system is. Go metric!
> 
> Also the dress Ellana is wearing is based on Helmut Lang


	46. The One Where Solas and Ellana Go to Battle

**Chapter 46**

From out of nowhere, ghastly chains crashed along the street, shattering the asphalt surface. Solas searched the shadows of the fog for clues as to what was going on. He could feel powerful magic, it burned his senses, almost as if the Veil had been cleaved in half. Reactively, he waved his fingers in the air, summoning a barrier spell around himself and Ellana. _Ellana._

He could feel Ellana’s hand tighten around his, her fingernails digging into his skin. Her face ashen, the leopard spots of her coat, reflected a lurid shade of green. The corners of her mouth twisted in despair, if he didn’t act quickly, the shock would overwhelm her. 

Solas couldn’t blame her. One moment they were on their way to a romantic night out. The next, they were at the mercy of wild magic. 

“Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand,” Solas yelled over the sound of screaming bystanders. Occasionally a flash of bright fabric poked out amongst the smog. Through the murky clouds, he thought he saw the hot glow of flames, the smell of oil burning. A car, possibly--or a building--was on fire. 

Years of navigating extraordinarily dangerous situations awoke the primal parts of his brain, where instinct took over his muscles, causing him to react to the circumstances at hand. Fear for Ellana kept that wolfish part of himself at bay. He needed to stay present. 

It was starting to become difficult to breathe. The virescent mana was irrepressible. Smoke and dirt wafted in the air. They needed to find a way forward--or at the very least—away. 

Without warning, the chain snapped against the barrier, shattering the glass doors of Ellana’s apartment building behind her. The time to plan was over. 

Solas securely grabbed Ellana by the hand, directing her towards the alley. He hoped the spot would give them more cover for a few seconds to strategize. Considering that the art historian was under surveillance, he was sure Inquisition agents would arrive at any moment. 

Flat against the bricks of the apartment building. Solas was amazed to see Ellana soften, her sharp eyes scanning the landscape. No matter the obstacle, she always was determined to overcome it. 

“I left the beeper Leliana gave me in my other purse,” Ellana lamented. 

“She has agents on-site twenty-four hours a day,” Solas responded, leaning forward to peer down the alleyway. On occasion, a person would run by, bellowing. He was confident that when the dust cleared, mangled bodies would litter the street. 

Ellana backed up about to ask a question when she gave a startled huff, her hand quickly covering her mouth to keep the scream from bursting out. Solas admired her courage and foresight. Looking to see what startled her, he saw the burly stature of Agent Gordon Blackwall. He was dressed in a gray t-shirt and ripped up jeans, holding a gigantic metal baseball bat, a gun tucked into a holster in a belt around his waist. 

“Blackwall!” Solas exclaimed. “Where is the Nightingale?” 

“Wait, you’re with the Inquisition?” Ellana asked, her voice at precisely the right volume to be heard, but not so loud that they might be discovered. 

“Grey Warden,” the bearded man boomed, tapping his ear. Solas realized he had an earbud in. “The Nightingale is trying to get through. There are magical barriers around the street. The huntress is out.” 

“Andruill,” Solas said to Ellana by way of explanation. “We’ll need to break out ourselves, open a doorway. Otherwise, everyone in the city block will be slaughtered.” 

Blackwall nodded in agreement. 

Suddenly, the gargantuan silhouette of a hulking beast emerged from the mist. The intensity of the screams increased as the maniacal laughter continued, echoing out into the violent battleground. Squinting down the passage, Solas could see the outline of horns and a monstrous face. 

“No--that is impossible!” Solas whispered to his fellow stowaways. “I have only seen such things in my deepest journeys into the Fade!” 

“What is that?” Ellana said. Her voice was calm and even. 

“A pride demon.” 

“We must kill it,” Blackwall said, drawing out his gun. 

“Wait,” Solas interrupted, grabbing Blackwall by the shoulder with his free hand. “A demon is only a spirit who enters this world under false pretenses. Pride? It is actually a being of wisdom. Andruil must have summoned it to sow chaos so she might move in, kidnap Ellana or practice blood magic uninterrupted.” 

“Spirit, demon, what’s the difference?” The grey warden gruffly mumbled. “Either way, we need to stop it.” 

“Andruil would have needed to have fashioned a summoning circle out of salt. Break the bindings and the spirit is free and none will continue to..."

“I’ve seen this in my research,” Ellana agreed. “I think we should attempt to free the spirit. That will give us the space to figure out what the magical barriers are. Perhaps they are one in the same.” 

Solas calculated quickly. Breaking the barrier would alleviate some of the bloodshed, but certainly such a stunt was only meant as a distraction for Andruil to get what she wanted for so long: _a dreamer._ She could strike at any time. 

“We should not forget Andruil. She could be anywhere.” 

“Lavellan can stay here,” Blackwall began. “Although that leaves her without the protection.” 

“I am a mage. A capable one,” Ellana snarled. 

“Forgive me,” Solas continued, “but you are not trained in battle magic--” 

“You need my help, otherwise we're fucked.” Ellana snapped dryly.

“Alright, alright,” Blackwall laughed, clearly impressed by the art historian’s gusto. “What’s the plan?” 

The three crouched down for a moment. Blackwall and Solas drew a few diagrams in the snow while Ellana pointed out several flaws in their strategy. In the end, it was decided. Blackwall and Ellana would search for the circle, while Solas would distract the pride demon. After that, they would attempt to neutralize Andruil, the mages providing cover to Blackwall from a distance, if need be, as he sought higher ground to scan the surface. 

Blackwall edged further towards the street, staring out into the fog. 

Shedding his coat and scarf to allow for more movement, Solas was aware of Ellana’s eyes watching him as he stripped off the layers. There was a feral look in her eyes; at first, he thought she might still be angry at his reluctance to allow her to confront the demon. He was surprised when she took him by the hand squeezing it.

“Earlier, I didn't mean--,” Solas stumbled—rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. 

“Make it up to me later,” Ellana said with a grin, pulling him towards an amused Blackwall. “We have work to do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellana does not suffer mansplaining.


	47. The One Where All Ellana Sees Is Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reaching 100 kudos is (no-joke) perhaps the highlight of my year. Thank you to everyone who reads and comments this little silly fanfic!

**Chapter 47**

In possession of a minimal arsenal of elemental spells at her fingertips (literally), Ellana would have to use all of her reasoning skills to maximize her grimoire. It would be difficult, as the fog had thickened while the group had hidden in the alley, and the vibration of substantial power in the air made her head ache. Snake-like tendrils of mana drifted uncomfortably against Ellana’s skin. 

Ellana was no stranger to dangerous situations. After all, she was an elf and a woman. When she was a child, there had been a few incidents on the Dalish reservation where land developers had threatened and bullied her clan regularly. She had also lived in some unsavory areas of Minrathous and had been stalked home more than once. Even as a full-time professor in Val Royeaux, she was often called slurs on public transit. 

None of those circumstances compared to what Ellana saw as she followed behind Blackwall and Solas, weaving their way through the smog to search for the binding circle. 

_“It can’t be far from where the demon appears,”_ Solas had explained. _“There is only so much of a range.”_

Every few steps, the group would have to weave through a pile of burning detritus carefully when Ellana spotted a few gasping Orlesians with mangled limbs laying on the ground, moaning in pain. She paused, gazing down at a young woman about to offer aid, only for Solas to grab her by the hand again and lean in to whisper, “We may be the only ones who can end this, after the Inquisition helps.” 

As unpleasant as it was, she saw the practicality of such a stance. Healing a few bystanders would not allow them to fix the whole any faster. 

Turning a corner, the group came across a large circle of salt. White chunks littered the ground, forming gigantic stalagmites every few paces. Ellena didn’t have very long to examine the formation as the demon's thundering step caused the surrounding buildings to shake, the glass in the windows vibrating in their frames, echoing out like an eerie wind chime. 

“Watch out,” Blackwall shouted as the demon’s chain smacked against the paved street, narrowly missing Ellana by a few centimeters. Jumping to the side, she summoned a single flash of electricity that stretched out in the air like an unraveling thread, watching with satisfaction as the bolt toppled one of the anchors for the binding circle. 

Ellana sprinted, weaving in and out to cast small elemental spells that caused varying degrees of damage as Blackwall smashed at the mounds with the baseball bat. 

From the corner of her eye, Ellana could see Solas running, throwing globes of energy at the demon. In action, Solas seemed so unlike the stiff and aloof professor that she knew. The way his long arms moved was reminiscent of a dance. Intuition drove him as he jumped over the chain the demon belligerently swung, doing his best to guide the corrupted spirit away from the circle. 

Midway through summoning what felt like her hundredth blast of electricity, Ellana was caught unaware by the whoosh of the demon readying themselves to charge in her direction. Ellena’s foot tripped on a stray pipe, causing her to fall to the ground with a loud thud. Smashing against the payment, she covered her face with her hands, expecting to be torn in half the next moment. 

The killing blow never landed. 

Instead, all she felt was a cool puff of air passing across her skin. Surprised, she looked up to see Solas’ body wedged between her and the hulking form of the demon. Both of his outstretched hands were covered in blue light. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple as his mouth twisted in fierce concentration. 

Rising, Ellana fought her way forward to stand next to Solas, calling on her magic, only to realize that she was unsure what spell to twist her mana into. Frozen with indecisiveness, Ellana was relieved to feel Solas’ strong hand take her own, his magic commingling with hers. Closing her eyes, Ellana focused on the flow of the spell, trying to match its signature with her own. 

A pulse, like a tight spring, wound in her chest as she continued to pull at the fabric of the Fade, bringing it to the surface. A barrage of attacks from the demon followed, vast blasts of dark magic hit the barrier that the two mages had summoned in unison. Her teeth chattered with each collision. 

Ellana felt her resolve waiver when the demon roared, hitting its chest with a bellicose stare in her direction. Even from several large paces away, she could make the outline of two beady eyes and a snout covered in blood and ichor that dribbled down the creature’s chest. 

“One last push,” Solas called out to her, his arm wrapping around her waist to hold her up. Drawing on her dwindling reservoir of her strength, Ellana clenched her fists, the magic pouring out of her like a geyser. 

Blackwall's triumphant cheer was a prelude to the corporal form of the demon flickering briefly before condensing into a translucent green form huddled on the ground. In the dark light, Ellana thought the spirit--shaped like a woman--resembled a glistening exoskeleton. 

Breaking off his spell, Solas rushed forward, kneeling next to the spirit. Ellana followed, reluctant to get too close, concentrating on the surrounding environs if Andruil surfaced. She was still near enough to hear Solas begin to speak in a tender voice to the spirit. His hands passed through the surface of the spirit’s arm, hitting the rocky road.

“I am sorry, my friend,” Solas lamented. 

“I’m not,” the spirit responded in Elvhen. “I’m happy. I’m me again.” 

The light of the spirit began to twinkle in the darkened neighborhood like a dying star. A car a block away or so away was aflame. It’s red and orange, reflecting in a mottled pattern on the street's slick oil patterns. 

“Guide me into death,” the spirit continued in a high pitch cadence that reminded Ellana of a pizzicato string arrangement. “Help me.” 

“As you wish,” Solas said, a small shimmer of magic flashing over his fingertips, streaming over the spirit. Ellena could feel her chest tighten a bit, the sensation unpleasant, as if her magic were severed from her being. _Solas must have cast dispel._

The spirit sparkled once more before the light dissipated in a thousand directions, vanishing forever. 

For a brief instant, Ellana forgot that the battle they had faced was a prologue to another, potentially much more violent one, with Andruil. Solas rose, walking over to her, his arms quickly clenching around her. There was sorrow in his grip, firm and unrelenting. 

“You did marvelously,” Solas breathed into her hair, his arms tightening. The pride in his voice unmistakable. 

“I heard what it said. You did help it,” Ellana muttered, burying herself into his chest, startled to see blood smeared over his white button-down shirt. The droplets oxidizing in the cold air.

“We should move forward--” Solas began. 

His sentence remained unfinished, interrupted by a blazing eruption of green light emanating from a globe. Ellana had to cover her face with her hands in an effort not to be blinded. Her entire being felt fractured, as if she had been cut into tiny pieces. Fighting to stay upright, she was glad when Solas steadied her. Gazing upwards into his intense sapphire eyes, Ellena sought an explanation if there was any. 

“The Veil,” he screamed as ash swirled around them in a tornado, “It’s been torn here.” 

Pulling back, Solas resolutely took her hand by the wrist, swinging her like one would in a dance, pushing it up towards the turbulent atmosphere. 

“You can seal it!” He insisted. The dust spiraling around them, accelerating as the rupture expanded. 

Ellana faltered, not quite knowing how she would. Her magic was almost depleted. 

“Picture it, and the spell will follow,” Solas urged, the edge of his voice growing more desperate as the fissure grew larger and larger. 

Ellana clenched her eyes shut, trying to bring an image to her mind that would solve such a thing, landing on the image of a placid lake covered in sunset. The effort earned her a single weak spark that wouldn’t have lit a small candle.

“Ellena, please!” Solas said. She could feel his mana rising to the surface. 

“I c-can’t,” Ellena answered meekly. 

“You will,” Solas screamed back, the lines around his eyes intensifying. “Draw your magic to mine!” 

She went deeper in the lake, underneath its grimy surface, finding a song that had haunted her once when she lingered too long underwater. A burst of magic, emerald, and unabating, emerged on her palms. Solas raised her hand to the aperture of the breach, and she watched in wonderment as the air began to knit, the green brightness constricting and then wilting like a balloon until clear night was all that remained.

“W-hat?” Ellana sighed, looking down at her hands in terror. She couldn't totally comprehend what had just happened as she could feel Solas catching her again as she faded into unconsciousness. 

Before the blackness took her over entirely, she swore she heard a familiar woman’s voice, clear and vibrant, ringing into the empty street: “ _Dread Wolf.”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my take on the All New Faded for Her chapter. WHAT WILL COME NEXT? 
> 
> I apologize as I've been watching Jane the Virgin (which might be one of my new favorite shows) so things might get extra twisty/dramatic over the following chapters. I almost wish I had been watching it when I started this!


	48. The One Where We Learn About Solas' Complicated Dating History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CRAZY!

**Chapter 48**

Solas had caught Ellena just in time to lay her on the ground carefully. Turning to look behind him, he was about to ask Blackwall if he was alright when he saw the burly man, knocked out, a smear of blood on his forehead. He was moving to heal the gray warden when someone called to him. 

It was a voice that haunted his dreams at night. 

“Dread Wolf.” The words reverberated into the air. A fiendish echo. It had been years since Solas had been called such a thing. At first, he had known the name as a term of endearment. Later, he learned it was his assigned codename. The revival of its use brought a chill to his spine as the memories flooded back in a sudden irrepressible burst. 

Looking up, Solas saw the handsome face of a woman he had once intimately known. The last time he had seen Andruil, she had been all creamy skin and pouty lips. She looked much as did in the past, auburn ringlets falling to her waist over a snow-white fur coat. She was beautiful to most, but not Solas, as he knew the unblemished veneer obscured her bottomless cruelty. 

He had once seen her burn a man alive with her hands simply because he had accidentally coughed in her presence. 

“She’s rather waifish, not much to her.” Andruill sighed, examining her perfectly varnished brick-red nails in distaste.

Andruil herself had a body of supple curves, her hourglass shape comely and fantasy inducing. It was quite the opposite of Ellena's petite and slender form. 

Solas glanced down at Ellana, sleeping on the ground. She was curled on her side, a hand wedged between her cheek and the asphalt ground. Her features were untroubled, her white-blonde hair falling out of her carefully arranged pins, framing her olive skin face. A fresh layer of snow was starting to accumulate on the ground, covering up the battle signs. 

“I see how it is with her,” Andruil continued, her tone growing dark and bitter. “Did you tell her the story of our relationship? I can’t imagine the little thing would be pleased.” 

“Us?” Solas sputtered. “You are aware that none of that--or let me say actually _all_ of that--was a farce to bring about your downfall. Tell me, where do you find the truth in what passed between us?”

“Oh, Solas. Do you really think I’ve forgotten all those wild things you said in my bed? Or should I remind you?”

Andruil inched closer to him until two pale blue eyes mirrored his. He had watched on more than one occasion how Andruil had bewitched innocents with her charms. Seeing her now, thinking of how much danger Ellana was in, sickened him. He tried to forget the affectionate things he had been forced to say back to her, or do, in service of defeating the Evanurius. 

In the following years, he was sometimes conflicted on how much of it had been acting, or if some hidden part of him had enjoyed the erotic whirlwind.

He was, at the very least complicit. 

“That isn’t what this is about,” Solas said, gesturing emphatically to the surrounding bloodshed. He was unsure if the precipitation falling in the air around him was ash or snow. Sirens boomed in the background, drawing closer. _Delay, say anything..._

“You’re right. Although, I am pleased to say she’s nothing like you. Her magic is different. Does she know that? You were always the strongest amongst us, and she could smite you with a single twitch of her small finger.” 

“I destroyed you once,” Solas growled, “I will not hesitate to do so again.” 

A charged bolt crashed down from the sky, missing Andruil by a narrow margin. 

“Did you mean to miss? Or were you nostalgic?” Andruil taunted, taking out a charred wolf jawbone from her pocket. It glittered ominously in the strange light of fallen street lamps. “You were always so generous.” 

Solas was almost able to respond with a jeer when she clenched her opposite hand, paralyzing his mouth with magic. 

The object he stared at should have never been made. A foci inspired by old Fairytales. It could tear small rips in the Fade, allowing the wielder to cast more powerful magic. Only, such a thing happened at a great cost to the user. 

“Amazing. How such a small thing can wield so much chaos. Then again, this was your design. Based on old Elvhen artifacts, if I’m not mistaken. What was it you said to me that night? ‘A wedge between the waking world and the Fade.'”

Solas’ hands curled around his throat. The magic was beginning to suffocate him. He fell to his knees, drawing the occasional stolen inhale. 

“Be careful,” she continued in a mocking voice. “You can pull it apart but can’t put it back together. Well, you’ve proven that’s not the case.” 

Andruil snapped her finger. The sirens were only a few blocks away. He could hear the marching steps of agents as they drew closer. Although his store of mana was almost depleted, he could feel the magical barriers crashing down. _If I can hold on…_

He would gladly die before letting Andruil take Ellana. 

“Eventually, she’ll figure out that you are using her. It’s laughable, really, the same way you used me. It’s not even your game this time. Should I ask what the Nightingale wants?” 

“Andruil,” Solas interrupted in his best attempt to keep his voice calm. “You will never have her, or the orb.” 

“We’ll see,” Andruill whispered in a sensual voice, her fingers cupping his jaw, forcing his face upwards. He was summoning a blast of magic to his fingers to end it all right then when Andruil, when a roar in the background signaled that the Inquisition had arrived on the scene. He could hear Leliana calling out orders as the Templars flattened the Veil further, using their lyrium to terminate any errant mana in the air. 

“Until we meet again,” Andruil whispered before she disappeared in a flash over the horizon. A fade step, sweeping her far away, in a single breath. 

A roar followed. Solas clutched his head. He, too, was beginning to lose consciousness. _How was he going to tell Ellana all of this?_

Something inside him told him the worst was yet to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Solas. Don't worry, things are going to get steamy soon. Ellena and Solas deserve a date night where nothing goes wrong.
> 
> Oddly this Andruil/Solas pairing is based on canon and a line I read about solas “serving in her bed” can’t remember where.


	49. The One Where Ellana Packs

**Chapter 49**

Ellana woke up in the back of what looked to be in an ambulance. As her vision cleared, she made out the angular profile of Solas Fen’harel. She realized the two were cramped onto a stretcher, her head resting in the crook of his elbow. Seeing she was awake, Solas greeted her with a grin. 

“Good morning,” Solas whispered in a husky exhale. It sounded to Ellana as if his throat was bruised. “This was rather forward of me,” he stopped nodding to their sleeping arrangement, “but we were sequestered here by the Inquisition, and I was exhausted.” 

“I don’t mind,” Ellana dreamily breathed, placing her palm on Solas’ chest. Ellana noticed that he was wearing a set of cotton teal scrubs, a shadow of stubble uncharacteristically lining his jaw, “What time is it?” 

“It’s nearly three a.m..” 

Scanning the inside of the ambulance, Ellana tried to decipher the uses for the medical containers and equipment lining the wall. Touching her face, she did not find any cuts or bruises. Her body ached, but none of the pain was dire. Glancing down, she saw that she was still fully dressed in her coat, thankful she had made the unexpectedly prescient decision to wear practical shoes and leggings. 

She couldn’t imagine battling in skimpy shoes and pantyhose. 

“What happened?” Ellana asked, attempting to sit up. A huff of air escaped her lips when Solas reached up and gently pulled her down again.

“Don’t rush to stand.” He advised. “You’ll faint.” 

Out of the open back of the ambulance, Ellana stared out to a chaotic landscape of flashing lights and accumulating snow. Agents in jackets bearing the Grey Warden insignia scurried about shouting orders in Orlesian. Some pushed stretchers with patients wrapped in black wool blankets into medic vehicles. She saw what looked to be a fire truck down the street, along with yellow tape bearing the message _mise en garde_ wrapped around many apartment buildings. 

“Andruil and I fought,” Solas exclaimed faintly. “She escaped. The good news, as far as I can confirm, is that there were no fatalities. A miracle, to be sure, all things considered.” 

“What is the bad news?” Ellana responded dryly. The last few months had made her optimism falter. _There was always something dire in Val Royeaux._

“Well, perhaps not terrible, but after some debate, Leliana recommended that you be placed in a safe house until the end of winter interim--” 

“Oh, so she can make me one of her pawns? I hate that--” 

“Ellana,” Solas sighed, “Let me finish, please. I wanted to invite you to stay at my apartment. It has formidable security in place, and it may very well be your safest option.” 

Ellana calmed as Solas spoke. She knew that his invitation to stay at his apartment, pending Inquisition intervention, was in earnest and didn’t want to test his patience further by being unnecessarily stubborn.

“Isn’t that, to use your words, ‘rather forward’?” She teased, curling up against Solas’ warm body again. “After all, we never made it to dinner.” 

Solas chuckled shyly, his chest rumbling against Ellana’s cheek. She pressed into him, inhaling his scent mixed with smoke. His heart was beating, a steady rhythm so unlike the disarray surrounding them. 

“I happen to be an excellent cook, if that informs your decision,” His voice lowering, “and I have a rather large stockpile of wine.”

“That is something to consider.” Ellana hesitated. She knew Solas well enough to know that he wasn’t asking with any unseemly expectations. She was curious to see where Solas lived. Three and a half weeks, however, was a long time. She was, however, overwhelmed with how fast things were continually moving.

“Also, I want to reassure you that I also have a roomy guest room,” He inserted abruptly. “I wouldn’t--” 

The conversation was interrupted by Leliana hopping up the back of the truck, standing over the two of them. Despite the cold, the spymistress was still dressed in her velvet tracksuit. The hood brought up around her unreadable face. Separating herself from Solas, Ellana sat up on the stretcher, propping herself up on her elbows. Although Solas and Ellana could barely consider themselves alone, Leliana’s appearance felt intrusive. Especially as she wasted no time to issue demands. 

“Solas, it’s not good. Any of this. The executive order is convening, and you’ll need to be there.” Halting, Leliana crossed her arms, “I’m assuming you caught Dr. Lavellan up on your plan?” 

“I was about to agree when you showed up,” Ellana shot back, annoyed at being spoken about as if she had no agency. “It’s nice to see you too, Leliana.” 

“Well, that’s one thing out of the way. I can have Blackwall drop her off.” 

“I will drive Dr. Lavellan.” Solas sternly cut in, swinging his feet over the side of the stretcher. “I will join you in a few hours.” 

Ellana noticed he had on his gray coat and was holding her purse. _He must have gone back and grabbed them after the fight was over._

“Solas? The longer we delay,” Leliana insisted again. “Blackwall--” 

“I’ll remind you that Agent Blackwall sustained a head injury and shouldn’t be driving. This is non-negotiable. Nor is it reasonable to assume otherwise.” 

Ellana had never seen Solas angry before. His usual relaxed cadence was cold. Underneath each carefully measured word lurked a snarl.

“If you are not at headquarters by the afternoon, I will personally come and retrieve you,” Leliana warned, her speech cracking. In the dim light, Ellana could make out tears streaming down her face. 

“Leliana,” Solas cajoled, the anger giving way to compassion. “I only asked for a few hours. We’ll figure this out. None of this is your fault.” 

“If we had acted sooner--” 

Solas stood, walking over to the woman, placing his hand on her shoulder. For a fleeting moment, Ellana was reminded of him comforting the spirit. 

“We have defeated the Evanurius before, my friend. We will again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Leliana said, turning to Ellana. “I didn’t mean to be short with you earlier. It is a lot to bear in situations like this.”

“How do you plan to explain what happened,” Ellana asked in her scholar’s voice, turning to look between Solas and Leliana. “The green light? The clouds and roaming demons?” 

“Gas leak.” Leliana shrugged. “Accounts for mass hallucinations and the poison gas.” 

“Ah, I wouldn’t think it to be that simple.” 

“Solas will catch you up after the executive order meets. I assume you know that you shouldn’t leave his apartment unless making prior arrangements. For your safety.” 

Ellana nodded. She didn’t like the prospect of her independence curbed but didn’t see that she had a choice otherwise. 

“I’ll be off then,” The spymistress said, jumping out into the cold night, vanishing in a matter of seconds, as if she were a raven taking flight. 

“Let’s go to your apartment and retrieve your things,” Solas announced gruffly when he had collected himself, his shoulders stiff and rigid as he hopped out of the back of the ambulance, waiting for her to follow. For every wide step Solas took, Ellana had to take three. She struggled to keep up with him as they navigated their way back to her apartment. 

Where the streets were clear, broken glass and metal bits scared the ground. A fire hydrant had been used earlier to snuff out flames, ice freezing over an area of cobblestone street. 

Occasionally Gray Warden agents stopped what they were doing to salute and respectfully nod in Solas’ direction. The neurologist would return the gesture, a wizened smile flickering on his lips. 

“They all know you,” Ellana observed. 

“I was an active consultant.” He responded. His face was pinched and withdrawn. 

By the time they reached her door, Ellana was relieved to be driving elsewhere. The door frame was empty of glass, the entire entryway littered with broken glass that smashed underneath her boots as she walked up the stairs. Solas followed, his step slow and thoughtful. 

“I can’t believe you recovered my purse,” Ellana excitedly muttered, fingering the tight strap around her shoulder, fishing out her keys, and cracking open the door. The empty wine glasses on her desk, welcoming her home, were a reminder of the evening that should have been. 

“Where is your luggage?” Solas said, ignoring the comment, looking around at the apartment. 

“The top shield of the front closet,” Ellana replied. She turned her attention to her dresser. She was surprised when she could hear Solas opening the door and straining to take out a sizeable wheeled suitcase and setting it down at the center of her mottled blue rug. 

“Do you need me to grab anything else?” Solas dutifully asked. 

“Sit,” Ellana said, pointing to the couch again, “I’ll be quick. Do you want water? Or I think I have juice?” 

“No, thank you,” Solas murmured. His expression was more withdrawn than angry. Still, Ellana was concerned at the shift in his demeanor. She felt tired and in need of rest, but she could wait to let go once she was in an entirely secure place. In contrast, Solas looked as if he was carrying multiple burdens, and his face was ashen and drawn. 

She resolved to pack as efficiently as possible. A few moments of silence followed as Ellana went to her closet first, pulling out a handful of black clothing and throwing them on the bed. She didn’t expect she needed anything but casual outfits, still as a precaution. She slipped in a few blouses and skirts. Heading to her dresser, she pulled out a cascade of soft clothes and placed them in the suitcase in orderly piles. 

Glancing over at Solas, Ellana saw that he was asleep, slumped into the corner of her yellow couch. 

She took the opportunity to open her underwear drawer, taking out a few risque items, only to quickly put them back. Her hands moved over to some of her nicer, but more every day, options. 

After going to her bathroom and zipping up a nylon bag of toiletries, she knelt over to wake Solas up. Her two hands gently reached up to shake him. The eyes that looked back to her were startling, elsewhere and distant, lacking their usual vibrance. 

“Are you alright?” Ellana asked quietly. 

“I will be,” Solas responded, his voice ill-tempered, before continuing with his usual patience. “It has been a long night. Let me help you with your suitcase.” 


	50. The One Where Solas Laments

**Chapter 50**

Encountering Andruil in the flesh had stirred up Solas’ old wounds. The routine of his everyday life, and the non-stop work that teaching fellows and treating patients allowed him to continually push away the terrible memories of the time he had spent with her. 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would wake drenched in sweat, to the recollection of the last morning he had spent with Andruil. It was hours before her capture. He had done his best not to appear smug as he pretended to read the newspaper from her gigantic bed in her country villa. She had paced around in a flimsy crimson satin robe, speaking in coded Elven to another of her associates, Falon’Din, about the orb and how the two would retrieve it with Solas’ help after the Evanurius convened. 

The way the sunlight had caught Andruil’s auburn hair and hourglass body had been captivating. 

She had kissed him goodbye, promising to celebrate later that evening. All Solas could think about was how glad he was that if all went well, he’d never have to touch Andriul again. Or pretend to love her. 

_Was he willfully painting his past in a better light? Had part of him cared for Andruil?_

Before he knew how terrible she was--before Mythal died--Solas had a crush on her. After all, she was a striking woman, skilled in seduction. That morning, while he was lounging in bed, watching her, an unscrupulous part of him had been momentarily tempted to tell her of the trap. The pair could find the orb together and claim its power as their own. He was of the conclusion that a better man than him would never have such a thought. Transient or otherwise. 

Years later, the fleeting impulse to conquer Thedas haunted him. 

He was thinking of the past when he carried Ellana’s suitcase to his car and popped open the truck, and when Ellana breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted her books amongst the sparse interior. When he put the car in gear, pulling onto the street, turning the radio on to try and jog himself to return to the present, only to immediately turn it off again, given that the news reports were talking about an exploding gas leak on the East side of Val Royeaux. Occasionally, he’d catch Ellana flashing him a concerned glimpse in his direction when she assumed his eyes were on the road. 

The fact that she was beginning to reciprocate his feelings made things worse. Regret and fear flooded his senses. The adrenaline caused him to want to spring into action. What was there to do, however? 

He could confess everything. That was one option. 

“Are you alright?” Ellana quietly said. Glancing over, Solas could see her _vallaslin_ branches twisted with worry. “I can drive if you are too tired, I can set my GPS up?”

He didn’t speak a little longer than was comfortable. 

“I-I am able to drive. I am fine.” 

“Are you injured? Did--”

“Only in need of sleep, I assure you.” 

“If something were bothering you--” Ellana began before a buzzing sound emanated out from her phone in her purse in quick succession. Distracted, she took out her cell phone, reading the screen, before turning to face Solas with an agitated grimace. “It is Fenris, he saw the news about the gas leak, do you mind if I--”

“Go ahead, please.” 

The conversation that followed was neither long nor detailed. Ellana assured Fenris she was fine, that yes, there had been an explosion near her apartment. A long pause followed where Solas could hear the mumbled garble of the artist’s voice, followed by Ellana responding, _“No, thank you for the offer--I have other plans on Solstice. I’m staying with Solas. He picked me up, actually.”_

The candid answer surprised him, as did the warmth in her voice as she mentioned staying with him. He tried to watch for signs of a disagreement between the former lovers. He could not have expected the casual pleasantries the two shared: _“No, I appreciate you calling,”_ and, _“of course, I’ll update you.”_ Both followed by a civil, _“Yes, I’ll give Solas your best.”_

“Plans for the Solstice?” Solas asked churlishly when Ellana clicked the phone off. “If that were your preference, I’d be happy to figure out a way.” 

“No,” Ellana intently stared at him, the concern melting away to confusion. “I thought, well, given your invitation that you wanted to spend time together. I understand these aren’t ideal circumstances, but did I misunderstand?” 

Solas couldn't find the words to reassure her as he was replaying the words that Andruil had snarled hours earlier: _“Eventually, she’ll figure out that you are using her._

 _Was he taking advantage of Ellana?_ Did he care for her, or did he want, like he had all those years ago, to use her to find the orb and take it for himself as he was once tempted to do? Moving out of the way, or even urging her back towards Fenris would be a way to ensure her safety, not only from the Evanurius, but from him. 

He could end things before them before a relationship took root. It would be more comfortable now, if not kinder in the long run. _But how?_

“We are almost to my apartment,” Solas said, turning the car onto his city block.“Let’s talk there.” 

“Alright,” Ellana replied wearily. Given how sad her voice was, Solas did not turn to turn to look at her as he hit the garage door opening, turning into his private entryway. 

He did not look forward to the conversation that was to come.

  
  



	51. The One Where Solas Gives Fully Into Emotional Reasoning

**Chapter 51**

“This is your apartment?” Ellana exclaimed. Had she not been so sleep-deprived, she might have refrained from being so outwardly exuberant. “It’s beautiful!” 

As they had driven closer to the city center, weaving through the towering multistory buildings with ocean views, and streets dotted by high-end fashion couturiers and world-famous restaurants, Ellana was certain that Solas’ place would be grand. At least, much more monumental than her studio. 

Parking in the private garage startled Ellana. She didn’t realize such an indulgence existed. Taking the elevator up to a private floor and watching as Solas entered in a long chain of numbers followed by a thumbprint scan stimulated her curiosity further. 

Nothing, however, in her wildest imagination compared to the luxury that was revealed the moment Solas opened the door. What greeted her was not the large condo she had envisaged. Instead, it was an entire house in a skyscraper. _A palatial house._

A metal staircase connected two floors of sumptuous rooms with high ceilings with raw wood beams. Granite countertops marked the boundaries of the kitchen. Sparsely decorated, the interior was a mix of industrial-styled furniture with scraps of emerald accent rugs and jade-colored pillows gathered around a gas fireplace. If that were not enough, the corner dining room--where a trendy glass and metal table with seating for a dozen guests--was encircled by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Waking Sea. 

Ellana gaped a bit. She couldn’t believe she would be staying here through the winter interim. Or that such living quarters existed. 

“This is the guest room.” Solas nodded to a room right around from the front door. Ellana had to repress a gasp when he flicked on the lights to reveal a space nicer than any hotel she had visited. The oversized bed overflowed with plump pillows, and a quilted gray coverlet that one didn’t have to touch to know was velvety soft. Over the bed hung a minimal gold painting, with subtle outlines of wildlife and ancient sigils. A glass wall looked into an enormous black marble bathroom with a separate shower and a bathtub so large that a bather could float in if they desired. 

The aesthetic was simple, but the cobalt tile backsplash in the bathroom would have cost more than Ellana made in a year to install.

Solas cleared his throat, rolled her suitcase next to the guest bed, and nodded at Ellana cordially. He wouldn’t make eye contact with her. It was unlike him. Even in their past disagreements, Solas had always appeared amiable. It was she who had been aggressive and angry. When Solas had issued the invitation, his voice had been warm and eager. On the drive over, he had grown distant. What had changed between them? Now he was distant. _Was it her magic?_

_Again?_

Her hand tingled from the green burst of mana that erupted from her fingertips. Although there had been a couple of answers from her time in the sleep lab, Ellana was still bewildered by her capabilities. She could barely fathom tearing the Veil, let alone repairing it. _How had Solas known what to do?_

She wanted to ask him for more information. The sight of his pallid face, however, made her pause. 

“I’ll leave you to change,” Solas said absently, punctuating her racing thoughts. “I’m going to take a shower before I leave to consult. We should speak before then.” 

Before Ellana could draw another breath, the neurologist had fled, shutting the door snuggly behind him with a click. 

Alone for the first time in hours, Ellana did her best to focus on the present. Taking off her coat, she was reminded once again of what the evening should have been, the air on her bare skin chilly. She had forgotten that she was wearing the revealing gown. 

Wasting no time, she retrieved her bag of toiletries and a pair of cotton shorts and a billowy button-down shirt she wore to sleep in. Creeping into the bathroom, she studied the knobs of the shower, playing with the settings to switch on a hot stream of water with the best water pressure Ellana had ever accessed. 

Sitting down on the raised cement bench to the side of the shower, Ellana lay her cheek flush against the smooth tile, ignoring the bruises that had spread down her limbs. For a few minutes, she drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep as the water flowed over her aching body. 

By the time she had emerged and dressed, the sun was rising over the harbor. Uncertain, she stood in front of the windows lost to the majestic view. A tap on her shoulder made her jump. 

“I didn’t intend to scare you,” Solas interrupted her, his face remorseful. The neurologist was freshly shaven, dressed once more in his usual gray trousers and a black cashmere sweater.

Ellana thought she saw his arms twitch as if he was about to reach out and comfort her. Instead, his shoulders became rigid. His mouth was drawn into a flat line. 

“How did you sneak in so quietly?” 

“Consulting.” He smiled, a forced, painful expression. “Why don’t we sit?” He continued gesturing to the table next to them. 

Ellana nodded, pulling out a black plastic chair and plopping down. The exchange was so strange and overly professional. She felt like she was sitting across from a coworker rather than a man who had picked her up for a romantic dinner the evening prior. 

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. It is the safest option after the royal castle in all of Orlais, I checked, and the refrigerator and pantry are fully stocked--but if you need anything else, text and we can make arrangements for a secure drop-off.” 

“That’s very generous, Solas. When will you--”

“Forgive me for cutting you off.” He continued, his eyes drifting towards the gray sea. “Andruil’s emergence changes things. Very bluntly, I do not think you understand what she is capable of, and I want to make sure--that is, I need to revive my consulting work to do everything possible to defeat her.” 

Ellana felt a flood of emotions rising in her chest. It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. She hadn’t presumed that dinner meant that she and Solas would instantly embark on a relationship together, but his sudden change in temperament stung. 

“I suggest that we both take some time alone, to think through what comes next,” Solas said placidly, rising to stand. “Our failed dinner. Perhaps it is kinder this way--” 

“Time?” Ellana choked out. “What is wrong? I thought it was clear that we had feelings for each other.” 

The words tumbled out. Ellana thought it was premature to admit that she had feelings for Solas. _Only she did. Badly._

“I can’t, I’m sorry, Ellana. Whatever was between us. I must endure to--” 

“This is absurd.” It really was absurd. 

“I’d be happy to speak to Leliana about options. If you wanted to join Fenris for Solstice, alternatives could be developed.” 

“Is that what is bothering you?” Ellana responded angrily. “Fenris thought my apartment building had blown up. Do you blame him for calling?” 

“I am skeptical that your feelings for him vanished overnight. It would be understandable if you reunited.” 

“Solas, this isn’t like you. You are being rather unfair--” 

“You should not be bound to me and my past, Ellana.” Solas proceeded solemnly, rising from the table. “That is what would be unfair.” 

His words reverberated ominously, his pale skin glowing red from the rising sun behind him like an ember. 

“Promise me that you will not rush into a dangerous situation, should it arise. Please make sure the beeper Leliana gave you is within hand’s reach at all times.” 

“I’m quite capable--”

“I know you think that,” Solas snapped. “Unknown and possibly dark magic is surfacing. You were belligerent in the alley to think that you had the ability to engage in combat. Where there any other choice--you were lucky.” 

“Solas, you don’t get to lock me here and throw away the key.” 

‘That is not what I am doing.” He said, stomping into the kitchen, rustling around in the kitchen. Ellana could hear him fishing about in a bowl of knick-knacks. She wanted to stand to see what he was doing but remained frozen in her seat, unable to do anything and hang her head in her hands and sigh. 

She was surprised when Solas surfaced in the dining room again. A puffy black coat around his shoulders, carrying a set of keys, a severe expression was crossing his face. 

“If I do not come back, you _must_ not tell anyone else about what happened with your magic except for the Iron Bull. I cannot impress you enough. Go to the Iron Bull if something happens to me.” 

“Happens? What would happen-." At that moment Ellana regretted how little control she had over her life. 

“I was foolish to think that my life could be otherwise. I am sorry to have given you false hope.” 

“Why won’t you tell me what is going on? You don’t have to go to the Inquisition, Solas. This is ridiculous!” 

Ellana was near tears now. Although she did not appreciate Solas’ tone, he was right that she had not fully comprehended that his life might be on the line in this situation. She needed more time to piece together what was driving Solas' turmoil with the sparse clues she had gathered. Looking down at her hands, the possible consequences of what she faced made it difficult for her to breathe. 

By the time she had gathered herself, she had watched in dismay as Solas briskly exited the front door without another look in her direction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh sorry. The drama is going to end soon (for a while at least). I found it unrealistic to go right to romance after such a traumatic evening. 
> 
> It's coming tho. In fluffy glory. (& I'll do my best to post the next few sections quickly so we all can move past some agony).
> 
> Also, can I live in Solas' guest bathroom?


	52. The One Where Solas and Leliana Cuddle Nugs

**Chapter 52**

Solas was cradling Leliana’s pet nug. Schoomples, like a baby in her private office. Solas would never admit it, but he found it comforting to be rocking Schoomples in his arms after misbehaving with Ellana. 

He was not the biggest fan of the creature. The first time Leliana had brought it to visit his apartment, the nug had urinated in earnest all over his carpeting. _Multiple times._ Schoomples, on the other hand, was quite fond of him and always demanded for Solas to pick him up. 

It had been four days of endless meetings, with stolen naps and showers in the training gym. His concentration waned as the elite spy order debated where Andruil might have fled. Occasionally, he’d be called upon to confirm some minute detail of what might have motivated the crime mistress to act, or her magical capabilities. There wasn’t much to add that wasn’t already known. 

Solas did not volunteer any information regarding the origin of the device Andruil carried, nor Ellana’s magic. _Such information,_ he thought _, was best kept in the shadows._

“I know you are having a rough time when you dote on poor Schoomples,” a clear voice rang out from the doorway, waking Solas out of his reverie. It was Leliana. “You’ve made your disinterest in the task at hand clear, yet you offer no clear insights into what we should do.” 

The Nightingale slumped down next to him on the eggplant couch. She was wearing a matching suit with a white blouse. It was only the second or third time Solas had seen the spymistress don something other than a tracksuit. _Things must be severe._

Solas tried to suppress a smirk when Schoomples’ sibling--Schemeples the Great--roused itself with a squeal from a converted dog bed underneath Leliana’s desk. The nug, unlike its sibling, loathed him and had spent the last hour indifferently burying itself in a dark blanket, undoubtedly recreating a dark cave or womb. 

“We’re lucky it is Andruil that escaped. She’s the most outwardly vicious of the group, but also the most inept. Elgar’ nan? His fury would destroy everything he touched.” 

“There are small miracles, even amidst the darkness.” Leliana quoted at him. A pithy Chantry motto that she often brought up in dire circumstances. “Something else is troubling you.” 

“It’s a personal matter.”

Solas began to pet Schoomples on his runny nose intently. The nug looked up in enjoyment, exposing its gap-tooth teeth, a gesture he recognized as a type of visual purr. 

“Dr. Lavellan, I presume.” 

“I’m afraid that I might have, as humans say, put my foot in my mouth. A grisly maxim, but in this event, accurate.” 

“That bad?” Leliana shook her head before asking in a knowing voice, “What did Andruil say to you?” 

“It is complicated.” He was reticent, as always, to give Leliana too much of the big picture. Although he thought of the Nightingale as the closest person to a family member in his life, the care they gave towards one another was laced with dysfunction. 

Leliana shot a sympathetic glance in his direction, pausing to kneel to help a pleading Schemeples into her lap. _She is my friend and not the spymistress today, or so it seems._

“I remember what you had to endure with that woman. She didn’t make it easy.” 

“No,” Solas chuckled. “The part of Anduril that deserves pity was right to mention that I took advantage of her affection for me, which reminds me of another cliché: Do the ends justify the means?” 

“Yet you don’t give yourself enough credit. What was that old Elvhen proverb: Healers have the bloodiest hands. Most of your life, you’ve selflessly worked to bring less pain to Thedas. Literally, on occasion.” 

“I was complicit with some of her cruelty. I can recall many situations that warranted me to take part in it or risk exposure.” 

“Yes, but we both know that your relationship with Andruil was key to capturing the Evanuris in the first place. Without your trickery, all of them would still be loose. You were the only one who could walk between them.” 

“It wasn’t difficult to pretend to be in love with Andruil.” Solas lamented, “Vacationing in her lavish private estates, chatting with her full-time viticulturist while she committed any number of petty acts with her brother June in the basement, torturing elves who crossed her. Humans? She’d dismember for fun.” 

“You did the right thing. I know it is hard to believe sometimes.” 

“Thank you,” Solas said hoarsely. “I’m afraid that I wasn’t sure, for a short time afterward, what was real or unreal in that situation. I acted rashly towards Ellana.” 

“You have feelings for Dr. Lavellan?” It was more of a question than a statement. 

Solas nodded with a gloomy sigh. He would have liked to have told Leliana the whole story of their disagreement. Only, doing so would give her ammunition for some future subterfuge. _If only it were otherwise._

“Although, again, I might have bungled it. Famously.” 

“The feelings appeared mutual. I didn’t give it much thought to find you and her at the crime scene together. It seemed natural, in a way, but--”

“We had a reservation at La Lune et le Renard.” 

“No!” Leliana exclaimed so loudly that Schemeples the Great scolded her with an indigent mew. 

Solas nodded coyly. He could feel his usually placid face grow red. 

“You _did not._ I would so very much love to take Vivienne there, but it will have to wait--”

“For Duke Bastian to--?” 

“Yes, for Bastian to die. He’s been in the process for half-a-decade, poor sweet man. Doesn’t recognize Vivienne anymore. I think his children have figured out I’m not their step-mother’s friend, but they don’t seem to mind it. It would be improper to go out to such a place. Although--the food and the fashion--I would love to see all the shoes that people wear…” 

“Dagna can hack the system to make you a reservation anytime.” Solas offered with a small laugh. “Although, perhaps such a hope that you’ll go soon is unkind towards the Duke. I know him to be a kind man.” 

“I never knew him before the dementia,” Leliana paused before drawing in a breath of air and shooting him a pleading look. “Do you ever think of retiring?” 

“Constantly.” 

“Solas?” Leliana laughed before her face darkened. He expected her to bring up the orb, but she did not. 

“Yes?” 

“All this sentimental talk--I don’t know what happened between you and Dr. Lavellan--but have you tried apologizing?” 

“What--of course? Do you think I wouldn’t--” 

Solas mulled over the text messages they had recently exchanged. He had checked-in to make sure that Ellana had everything she needed or to ask if he could send groceries, only to receive a few curt one-word answers. The lack of warmth from the art historian intensified his feelings of shame and guilt. 

“Explicitly?” Leliana accused him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think you have ever apologized, in all the years I’ve known you, even when you ruined my surprise party! The staff had worked so hard and then you--”

“That was an accident.” 

Leliana glared at him. 

“I see your meaning.” 

“Call her.” Leliana urged. “Say you’re sorry.” 

“Now?” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you until you told me what was wrong, but the executive council just adjourned for Solstice.” 

“Solstice?” 

“Yes, it’s tonight. Maker, Solas, how are you a brain surgeon?”

“I’ll remind you that neurologists do not conduct surgeries. I might supervise treatment or offer magical aid--”

“Someone as pedantic as you will be great at apologizing.” Leliana sarcastically teased. “Do you need to roleplay?” 

Solas looked at his watch, ignoring the Nightingale’s playful jab. The movement caused Schoomples to whine. 

_There was still time to get to the markets before they closed._

“I should go,” Solas announced, gently setting the nug down on the couch beside him before grabbing his bag. 

“Happy Solstice,” Leliana said with a sad wave, stretching out on the couch as Solas left with a grin. She clapped her hands, turning off the light on the side table. If Solas had paused to stay one more minute, he might have observed the spymistress dolefully take out her cell phone. Re-reading the same text message in the almost pitch-black office: 

**xxx-xxx-8972, Mme Viv 9:00 a.m.**

I’m sorry, my love, Bastian’s favorite holiday whole family here. Raincheck? 


	53. The One Chapter Dorian Would Approve Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW? NSFW. (Enchantment? Enchantment).

**CHAPTER 53**

The time Ellana spent at Solas’ apartment passed by in a blur. At first, she consoled herself with writing. Her productivity soared. Fashioning a makeshift office at the dining room table facing a lonely sea, Ellana pumped out endless paragraphs. The argument with Solas had left her too worked up to listen to music, or relax, so she rotated between writing and sleeping. The angry clacking of her keyboard was the only sound. 

By the time her outrage had quelled, Ellana had finished two conference applications, almost all of her outstanding exhibition texts, and an outline of a new article on Dalish shrine cairns. 

What had gotten into Solas? One moment they were on their way to a romantic dinner. The next, he was pushing her to reunite with Fenris. Ellana had enough self-respect to know the problem wasn’t her. 

She ignored Solas when he texted her after two days. On the third day, she relented when he sent a more forlorn message. 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 1:05 p.m.** **  
**I merely wish to ensure sure you are alright.

 **xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 3:30 p.m.** **  
**Do you require anything? I can have groceries sent over.

 **xxx-xxx-3245, 3:45 p.m.** **  
**I will text if I need anything.

 **xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel, 1:15 p.m.** **  
**Thank you for letting me know.

By the fourth day, her phone rang. Initially, she thought to ignore it, but she couldn’t help herself as the chime continued. _Not a good habit to get into._ She was not interested in another relationship with a codependent undertow. 

“Ellana?” Solas’ voice was garbled as he spoke into the car’s speaker. 

“May I help you?” Her voice was edgy and impatient. 

“I apologize for the way I left things the other night. And for abandoning you without explanation.” 

Ellana paused longer than necessary to respond. Solas’ apology sounded earnest, although it was difficult to confirm the fact over the phone. 

“I would like to say all that needs to be said in person--”

“Are you driving back here?” Ellana asked. Her hostility calmed, hearing the intense remorse in Solas’ voice. 

“Yes, I wanted to call before I showed up suddenly. I understand it is the Solstice, and I thought perhaps--”

“You _understand_ it is Solstice?” Ellana teased, her voice warming momentarily. “Did you not--?”

“Yes, if you must know, I forgot.” 

She laughed quietly—a whisper of good humor. 

“How far away are you?”

“A couple of hours, I need to run an errand. Would you mind if I returned?” 

“It is _your_ apartment.” Ellana pointed out, making an effort to be as churlish as possible. “I can’t stop you.” 

“Even so, if you are willing, I would like to speak later this evening.” 

“It would be good to talk,” Ellana responded with a reluctant sigh. She was exhausted by anger and couldn't help but give in a little to her curiosity. “I can’t lie and say I’m uninterested in your explanations.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Yes, See you soon,” She said absently, clicking her phone off. 

Ellana wasn’t sure what to make of Solas.

If anything, exploring his apartment had deepened his mystery had poked around as much as she dared, opening a few of the doors upstairs to peer into an office, along with another guest room with some exercise equipment, a gigantic television screen, and matching sectional. Ellana left the door to what she assumed to be the master bedroom shut. Each room was a combination of monochrome furniture, perfectly styled with a few dashes of color. The aesthetic made her feel empty. It was merely as if the entire apartment was a placeholder for a life. 

The occasional artwork fastened to the wall was the sole indication of any of Solas’ tastes. Unlike the warehouse, she could see that most of the works were contemporary, student work. Sometimes clumsy, but mostly joyful abstract paintings. It excited her to spot an extensive violet work by Dorian resembling the one at the Kirkwall. 

Amidst the collection, however, there were no photographs or personal mementos. The bookshelf in Solas’ home office was filled with pristine medical texts and the usual classics one would expect in a professor’s collection. A few etched glass trophies were scattered carelessly around the room. Even the tin waste bin was empty. 

As far as Ellana could tell, the only item that didn’t match the house's sterility was a small portrait of a gray-haired woman hanging in the kitchen. The subject was wearing oversized sunglasses, sitting in a vibrant garden, clutching a sprig of elfroot. The painting was rendered from a photographic reference, but the bold geometric shapes and paint handing were thoughtful. It wasn’t the work of a professional artist, but it was a professional rendering.

Ellana was sitting at the kitchen bar, waiting for Solas to arrive home, wondering at the identity of the woman depicted in the painting, when she heard the door lock open and a gust of cold air filter in from the outside hallway. 

“I didn’t know if you’d come back,” Ellena announced, peering out from the kitchen. Solas was hunched over, tugging off a pair of waterproof boots. A few overflowing reusable grocery bags surrounded him on the ground. 

She walked over and plopped on a gray chair in front of him. Ellana anticipated that the next time she saw Solas she would be overcome with rage. In actuality, seeing his haggard face brought her a sense of relief. Underneath her anger, she hoped that he would find reason again.

“Neither was I for a time, but only a short time. I could hardly abandon you now.”

“That’s reassuring,” Ellena said, the statement coming out more sarcastically than she intended. 

“I regret my outburst.” He said, pulling off his coat and throwing it on a chair next to the door. “I apologize again.” 

Digging around in one of the bags, Solas drew out a brown paper parcel and thrust it towards Ellana, who accepted it. Unwinding rough twine around the bundle, she revealed another bouquet of unfurling irises. The heat of the apartment drawing the purple blooms out of their green stems. 

“I know this isn’t adequate,” Solas said with a hopeful gaze, “however--” 

“I appreciate the effort.” Ellana breathed. She was having a difficult time deciding if she should forgive Solas or not. Part of her wanted to instantly let him back in, while another told her to flee while she still could. She resolved to decide after listening to what he had to say.

“There is much to explain,” Solas said, gesturing towards the kitchen, picking up the bags of groceries. Ellana attempted to take one. As she followed, Solas shooed her hand away. 

“Please, sit,” Solas pointed to a bar stool on the opposite side of the large marble island that stretched across the center. “I think this conversation would drastically be improved by champagne, and if you don’t object, I am going to cook you dinner. It isn’t _La Lune et le Renard_ , but--” 

“What a traditional _mea culpa_ ,” Ellana froze in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, unsure what to do. She stumbled forward, clinging to the bouquet in her hands. The in-person apology had melted her anger even more, but she couldn’t resist allowing some rage to rise to the surface, “One might even say: a perfunctory romantic apology.” 

Ignoring her snark, Solas set-down the groceries and grabbed a decanter. Ellana thought, at first, he might grab a red wine, instead surprised to see him fill it with water and set it down on the kitchen island. 

“For the irises.” 

Intrigued, Ellana slid onto the barstool, placing the flowers stem-by-stem into the glassware. 

“You prefer champagne, if I am correct?” He asked, striding to the wine fridge on the opposite end of the counter. “Dry?” 

“Correct. Never sweet.” 

He tried to open the door handle, cursing under his breath as he waved a small burst of magic over a rune seal. Admittedly, Ellana had attempted to raid the fridge earlier in her stay, disappointed to find the latch tuned to Solas’ specific mana signature.

“I didn’t mean to leave you bereft. Leliana keeps breaking in and taking whatever she wants. Especially my rare and expensive vintages.” 

“You and Leliana have a complicated friendship,” Ellena observed. She wasn’t jealous of the spymistress, but part of her felt weary knowing how much Solas’ admired her. So far, she thought such an assessment was terrible judgment. 

“Yes, although I think part of my story might redeem the Nightingale in your opinion.” 

“I’m listening,” Ellana said as she watched Solas go to the white lacquered cabinets, retrieving a set of glasses with gold rims. He inspected a red glass bottle with a gigantic silver-foiled covered cork, nodding after some contemplation, moving over to the fridge. The strained expression he flashed her popping open the cork caused her to repress a laugh. 

The fizz of the champagne echoed out in the silence of the kitchen as Solas’ poured them both a glass. 

“After I completed medical school,” Solas began, handing Ellana a glass, “Leliana personally recruited me to work with the Inquisition to bring down the Evanurius. There are many finer details of those years that I cannot tell you. Andruil…”

Ellana nodded encouragingly. Solas’ pain was evident in his slumped shoulders and furrowed brow. Although his voice remained steady, his sorrowful expression pained her to see. 

“I was a double-agent, you see. Part of that cover made me complicit. Seeing her that evening brought all of that history back to the surface. I regularly have nightmares remembering her cruelty--” 

“Oh, Solas…”

In an instant, Ellana was able to forgive.

“All I could think about driving you here was how if we were to enter into a relationship, that you would be yet another bystander to my past. I also concede, I should have told you about my connection to Andruil when she attacked you the first time.” 

“You don’t have to do this alone, next time you can rely on me--” 

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone.” He interrupted abruptly, gazing up at Ellana, his nose wrinkling with deep thought. “I did not mean to push you away so reactively.” 

“I know. Thank you.”

“I’ll work on opening up. This isn’t all of what drove me that evening. There is so much more to this story that I would like, with time, to share with you. That is, if you are still interested in a friendship.” 

“A friendship?” Ellana teased, her voice lowering, “Is that why you are making me dinner.” 

“I didn’t want to presume.” 

Solas took out a wine chiller and filled it with ice, popping the bottle in it and the container in front of her. Ellena gasped, recognizing the champagne brand. The bottle was at least a couple hundred gold.

“You can’t be serious.” Ellana scoffed, touching the ornate label in shock. 

“Enjoy, it was a gift,” Solas insisted. “No more guilt this evening.” 

“I’ll do my best,”

“It is, after all the Solstice, seems as good a time as any,” Solas continued with an amused smile, unpacking the groceries he brought along with him. The packaging was made of heavy paper from one of the boutique supermarches specializing in fresh, high-quality ingredients. Untying a red ribbon from a black box, he opened it and then placed it in front of Ellana.

Gazing down, she saw plump strawberries with a white chocolate glaze and with edible multicolored glitter dusted on the outside. She recalled a past conversation she had with Dorian about these types of deserts. It was, in his word, a "sex" food. An appraisal that was not lost on her. 

“I didn’t think there would be time to make everything," Solas said dismissively in a way that made Ellana feel that perhaps he had just grabbed the confections on a whim. "For the champagne.” 

“Wow,” Ellana replied. After taking a tentative bite of the fruit, “I think this might be the fanciest Solstice I’ve ever had.” 

She caught a smug smile between Solas moving to the pantry and pulling out a gray and white apron. 

“There is still a question of your magic. Andruil,” Solas continued when he returned, taking out a cutting board from one of the lower drawers, “That monster is no fool and knows that the powers you possess are formidable. I too might be a dreamer, but I suspect as we begin--” 

_“We?”_ Ellana repeated back to Solas in a sing-song voice. 

“That is, as a doctor specializing in the relationship between the brain and the Fade, I cannot impress upon you enough how unique your magic is. You knitted back together the Veil with a single touch. I do not claim to understand fully, but together, I think we might be able to uncover the limits of your power.” 

Ellana looked down at her hands. She felt overwhelmed with the idea that her magic was so mighty. Admittedly, she didn’t think much about how she had so effortlessly repaired the rip with a single touch. Or the magic that had overtaken her neighborhood that evening. Magic hadn’t been a subject she historically had much interest in. It was exclusively a tool for her scholarship. 

It was hard for her to find a starting point to comprehend how magic would fit her current life. 

“Why did you tell me to find the Iron Bull, if something happened. He’s not a mage.” 

“Ah, I stand by that advice still. Aside from me, I suspect Dagna is the only other individual who might have a concrete idea of how different your magic is from mine. Or how much more powerful you are. If the Inquisition discovered your capabilities---or Andruil was to confirm her suspicions--it would be the end of your independence. Bull cares about you, and as one of the most elite spies to ever come out of Par Vollen, would have the skills to keep you safe.” 

“You seem to know Bull well?” 

“We are gentlemen who lunch together.” Ellana puzzled at that a bit. She knew they were friends but hadn't suspected that the two were that close. 

“I hope something sinister doesn’t befall you,” Ellana offered her glass up in an exaggerated toast. “After all, It would be lonely to spend all of the interim here by myself." 

“Yes,” Solas laughed. “Ellana?”

“Solas.” She replied flatly. 

“There are many dire topics still at hand. Might I suggest that we put a moratorium on them for this evening? I believe we might finally have some uninterrupted time together. I don’t return to the hospital for another two weeks, nor does the semester start until--” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Ellana dreamily responded, staring up at Solas propped up on her elbow. It was easy to push away all the turbulence, focusing on one another. She realized at that moment that was all she wanted. 

The pair sat in companionable silence for some time, flashing each other flirtatious glances. Solas paused to refill Ellana’s glass once in-between cutting up herbs and citrus fruit. Occasionally Ellana would ask him a question about what he was making, watching as Solas pulled out a cut of pink fish, he arranged carefully in a white glazed casserole dish with the citrus slices around it, filling the container with fragrant olive oil from a green glass bottle and slid it all into the oven. 

Ellena enjoyed watching the way Solas deftly chopped each ingredient. 

“Where did you learn to cook?” 

“My adopted mother.” He pointed the back of the knife at the portrait, “Mostly by watching.” 

“The art collector?” Ellana asked. 

“Yes, she passed away almost a decade ago.” Solas nodded. “There was always a party in her home. She loved to host them and would do almost all the cooking for any event, and I would help.” 

“May I help?” Ellana asked eagerly as Solas washed a handful of grape tomatoes along with another bag of fresh basil.

Solas nodded, taking out a clean cutting board from a drawer and gesturing for Ellana to come around. Handing her the knife, he turned to check on the oven and pull out a cast-iron pan, returning to laugh when he saw the mutilated mess Ellana had made in an incomprehensible short amount of time. 

“I’ve never seen anyone mangle a tomato in such a fashion before.” Solas laughed, coming to stand behind Ellana. “Here, let me show you.” 

“I’m not very talented--” Ellana began, stopping when Solas arms wrapped around her hand holding the knife. A spark from his touch made her shudder. A sharp inhale in her ear let Ellana know that the tremor did not go unnoticed. His breath hitched as his lips hit the side of her face, a kiss that covered her jawline. 

“I have not forgotten the kiss,” Solas whispered into her ear, suggestively after a pause. "It was nice." 

“Please,” she breathed, a shudder going up her spine. Ellana was doing her best not to make any embarrassing noises or to beg too much. Every part of her was on fire. 

“After dinner?” Solas proposed a soft voice, rearranging Ellana’s hands on the knife and guiding several surgical cuts. He lingered, allowing her to arch against him, His arms putting down the cooking instruments, tightening his grip around Ellana’s lithe form. 

Ellana turned, hooking her lips onto his. A momentary hesitation on Solas' part, and the two lost all control. By the time the chime went off in the background, signaling that dinner was made, they found themselves making out on the cold tile floor like hungry teenagers, their aprons tangled. 

“I have to take out the fish, or it will burn.” Solas chuckled as Ellana protested. 

Ellana rolled her eyes as Solas jumped just out of reach to circle back towards the other side of the island, grabbing a pair of oven mitts and pulling out the hot dish, and placing it on the stovetop. 

“I’m going to toast this bread, and then we can eat. Would you mind grabbing plates from the cabinets? The silverware is in the drawer to the left of the wine fridge." 

Ellana wanted to point out she had already figured out where everything was but didn't. She opened the cupboards, finding the stack of white ceramic dishes, pulling out a set, and then the matching silverware. She felt dizzy, having oscillated between desire and this emerging domestic bliss. She started walking towards the table again, utensils in hand, when Solas called out again. 

“Do you want to eat in the kitchen? No need to clean up your materials then.” 

Ellana returned to the kitchen, gingerly setting down the plates and the cutlery. A few moments later, Solas pulled out another bottle of wine and spooned some of the fish onto a plate along with some assembled bruschetta. She leaned forward against the edge of the counter when she felt Solas' hands reach up underneath her cardigan. She was wearing a jersey jumpsuit, unusual for its open sides. A groan erupted in her ear when Solas discovered that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. She didn't need to, generally. 

Much to her dismay, his hands retreated almost instantly. She was about to turn around and ask him if he was ok when he laughed, looking away coyly. He looked so utterly and stupidly happy. 

"I haven't eaten today," he confessed, hands going to his mouth in a way that hyperbolically reminded Ellana of their mortality. "And I would like to." 

"Oh, ok," She chuckled. 

The meal was delicious, but what struck Ellana the most was the normalcy of the whole affair. Solas was tentative with his flirtation at first. It felt like the date they hadn’t been able to go on. The conversation full of promise as Solas dotted on Ellana, His hand occasionally wandering to brush her hair out of her face or rest on her thigh. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” Solas declared once they finished the last of the strawberries. 

“I can help,” Ellana insisted, standing to scoop up a pile of dishes. 

“You will not,” Solas took the plates from her and set them down, and chased Ellena out of the kitchen and towards the couch, where he handed her a fresh glass of wine. 

Ellena tried to concentrate on the smoky flavor as she heard the clanging of glass and the sink running. Every small movement made her bristle with anticipation. 

When he was finished, Solas came to sit on the gray couch next to her. The apron bunched up on his lap, clenched in hands damp from scrubbing dishes. A coy smile flickered on his lips, silenced almost immediately by Ellana’s eager kiss. Goosebumps covered wherever their skin touched. 

Sometime later, Ellana was straddling Solas on the emerald carpet. The fibers were thick and soft. She wasn’t sure how they had ended up there in their fit of passion. Her fingers loosened his shirt from the band of his pants, revealing a swath of firm abs to her palms. It was unseemly the way their hips rubbed together. Each of Solas’ touches drove her closer to the void. Red and burning. 

She was mid-moan when Solas carefully placed his hands, so she didn’t fall backward as he sat up. 

“Ellana,” Solas interrupted in an amused tone, repeating her name when she attempted to kiss him again, her lips landing on the side of his mouth. "Would you like to go upstairs?" 

“Is that--” She was dizzy with lust, the words coming out nonsensically. She had never felt like this before, a sweet ache spreading across every area of her body. 

“My bedroom?" He clarified as if his invitation wasn’t coherent enough. 

Ellana had wondered for some time what Solas might be like in bed. Part of her thought he might be stoic and awkward, sterile as parts of him are. Instead, she's found him to be ferocious and skilled. She suspected he's had other lovers, more than her, but he had a gift for how to touch her. She wanted it all. 

“Yes, now.” Ellana decisively purred in a way that made Solas laugh. 

She jumped up to pull her cardigan off out of instinct to strip off her clothing as quickly as possible. Her efforts stopped by Solas, gently taking her hands into his own and drawing her back. “Ellana,” he groaned into her ear. It was a loud and primal sound emanating from deep within his chest. “Ellana, I want to undress you. Please." 

He did and there. Fixedly. Ellana was frozen by the whole exchange, aware of how her gradual exposure revealed her more to his gaze. First, her cardigan fell to the floor, and then the flimsy jumpsuit. Until she was standing there in her underwear. At the sight of her, Solas inhaled sharply, his thumb running roughly down the center of her throat, trailing over her sternum--pausing to watch as her breasts heaved on either side--and then back up to trace the line of her lips. 

Ellana kissed him in response, her tongue flicking over his as she was pushed up against the wall underneath the staircase. The touch of his clothing a reminder of her vulnerability and nakedness. A state she found erotic and new, as if it remade her into another creature. 

Her hands gripped Solas' shirt to give her enough leverage to hoist her body up and wrap her legs around his waist. His hands, in turn, kneaded her ass, pulling her snuggly against the hardness in his pants with another rumbling shudder. 

“Is this? Are you--” Solas softly whispered. For a moment, his face sobered. 

They were panting. Chests rising and falling in tandem. 

She nodded, realizing that the ambiguous gesture gave him another pause. 

"Yes, I am sure," She reassured him, realizing that she hadn't had to indicate such a desire in such clear terms for quite some time. She hoped it wasn't too awkward but didn't have time to dwell on it as Solas returned to kissing her, moving his lips along the core of her body until he hooked her legs over her shoulders, nudging her thighs open in a way that yo-yoed between possessiveness and unalloyed desire.

He laid a few kisses on the inside of her thigh, but Ellana quickly realized they were just prelude to the way his tongue toyed with her, slow and careful at first, until he desperately sucked on her clit. Ellana mixed Elvhen and Tevene in a way that betrayed her inability to decide what language might be best to praise how much he'd undone her. 

\--

They made it to the bed. Solas was inside her now, and Ellana is certain that she can now die in an ecstatic burst of happiness by the way he was thrusting. It's uncharacteristically wild. He had placed an arm underneath her neck and another gripped her leg around his hips. It had never felt this way with another person, and Ellana wasn’t sure why. At first, Solas was careful to make his dedication to her pleasure known, but gradually his resolve had worn away and he whispered a number of obscene things into her ear about how much he wanted her body and how good it felt. Now, he'd lost all control and pushed up against her in a frenetic way that made her feel desired and powerful. 

"Creators," She yelled when Solas dug in deeper, a wicked grin on his lips as he pulled her up onto his lap. He was relentless and knew it. A power she didn't suspect he possessed. His hands gripped the tops of her thighs and Ellana was reminded of the irises downstairs on the kitchen table, how they unfurled under the dimmed fluorescent lights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by wine and lecherysweet.
> 
> Do you want to make what Solas cooks here? https://www.hy-vee.com/recipes-ideas/recipes/citrus-baked-salmon
> 
> Between this and a Fade cocktail, you are all set.


	54. The One Where Solas Attempts To Make Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More NSFW

**Chapter 54**

Solas stood in the kitchen, staring at the open refrigerator. Taking out the loaf of bread he had bought for Solstice, he grabbed a carton of brown eggs. Euphoria filtered through his veins. It was hard to be amongst the concrete items of cookware. Their solidness was so unlike the floating sensations of constant arousal that had overtaken his body. 

He had left Ellana asleep in the bed. She had been wrapped in a single sheet, oblivious to the world. Solas found it breathtaking to wake up to the slope of her back illuminated by the rising sun. Her white-blonde hair tousled over her face as she slept peacefully on her side. 

The first night they shared a bed, Solas was unsurprised to find Ellana in the Fade. The two were walking in a field of purple leaves, an echo of the vineyard he had once summered at with Mythal. The sky was empty of clouds, a simulacrum of white. 

“I should have thought we’d run into each other here,” Ellana admitted, the feeling of her taking his hand was ghost-like, yet warm. “Where is here?” 

“My adolescent home,” Solas responded. He wanted to keep her away from the house where the dark memories lingered. “It’s a vineyard. I often come here.” 

“No wonder you like wine so much.” Ellana teased, guiding Solas towards an open meadow covered in wildflowers that flickered weightlessly in a phantom breeze. She sunk onto the grassy surface, pulling him down next to her, nuzzling her face into his neck. 

“Are we allowed to in the Fade?” She whispered wickedly. “I’m not sure of the proper decorum.” 

“Such an activity might attract a few spirits.” Solas laughed, “That is a risk I’m willing to undertake if you are.” 

Ellana’s hazel eyes danced as he gently aligned their hips together, her hands sliding up underneath his shirt, pulling at the fabric until it vanished. In the end, the two woke up, limbs entangled, continuing in the waking world until mid-afternoon. 

Standing in the kitchen, Solas had to grasp the counter to steady himself, recalling the way his name had twisted on Ellana’s lips in a feral song. It was never enough for either of them. 

Other times, when they drifted off to sleep, neither would unite in the Fade. Sometimes he would look for her. Other times he’d allow the dream to move him at its leisure. 

“Why do you think sometimes we meet, and other times not?” Ellana had asked him as she was curled up with her head on his lap the morning prior. He was reading the newspaper while she picked away at a thick bound book. 

“I’m not sure,” Solas responded solemnly, reaching down to smooth her hair. “It’s a misconception that all dreaming takes place in the Fade. Although, science isn’t sure about why sometimes one connects or doesn’t. I suspect it depends on our sleep cycles syncing up.” 

“A rather technical answer for a rather poetic happening.” She murmured. 

“Yes,” Solas laughed, “I’m afraid that’s what happens when you take a neurologist to bed.”

Solas had to confirm the date looking at his cell phone. It had been three days since Solstice. Occasionally Ellana and him would break to shower (usually together) or fumble down to the kitchen to grab a snack. Sometimes, the two had laid on his bed overlooking the city. There was a blizzard, so even at the higher altitude, the landscape was blurred lights and impressionistic shapes. 

Solas’ thoughts were interrupted by two arms snaking around his waist. The smell of rosemary and lavender wafted in the air. 

“What are you doing?” Ellana asked as if his intentions weren’t clear enough. 

“Making breakfast.” He dropped the bread on the counter, crossing his arms over to clasp her hands, enjoying the way Ellana dug her face into his back, her cheek resting against his bare skin. 

“ _Mmm_...after.” Her hands escaped his to tease the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Solas could feel himself harden at the promise of her fingers drawing closer. 

“You are incorrigible.” He chided with performative sternness, flipping around to pin Ellana against the kitchen island gently. She was wearing nothing but his forest green terry cloth robe, which he briskly slipped off her shoulders onto the ground with a flourish. Her exposed skin instantly dimpling with goosebumps. 

The first few times she had been naked in front of him, she had been shy, but that had quickly evaporated. 

“It’s freezing!” Ellana exclaimed, her grip quickly tightening around Solas’ waist as though to soak up his warmth. 

“Surely, you had to have realized the consequences of daring me,” Solas teased in a dry voice, summoning a burst of balmy mana to his palm, running his hands across Ellana’s curves, up and down her arms, over her small breasts. Her mouth parted with an ecstatic moan when he slid his thumbs over her nipples. 

Solas had dedicated himself to noticing everything that drove Ellana wild. So he knew when she arched her head back, he was to slowly kiss up her neck, stopping to suck at her ear lobe until her chest heaved. He also learned how to tease open her thighs and trail his fingertips over the smooth skin until she was beyond thought. 

By the time he had her up against the couch, she's said something filthy in Tevene. He knows she likes to tell him things in this language because he can't quite understand the meaning, despite a few paltry attempts at translation. The first few times they had been together, she had allowed him control, but after that, she had taken the lead, and he was determined to take some dominance back. 

It wasn’t controlling, more an equal exchange. 

Kneeling down, he dived his tongue against her folds until she's incoherent and pliable. Ellana came on him, and he threw her over his shoulder before she could get her bearings, gently pushed her up against the bed while he readied himself, entering her from behind without preamble. His arms splayed out over hers. Until she's straddling his lap, on the floor, holding the edge of the bed to steady them. 


	55. The One Where Solas and Ellana Pillowtalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will happen now that Ellana and Solas have joined forces?

**Chapter 55**

The _vivace_ of the last few days settled into a leisurely _allegretto._

Ellana was resting against Solas’ chest in the master bath. The hot water was at chin-level. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so peaceful. The usual tension in her body had evaporated.

For the first time in over a decade, Ellana let go of her worries and relaxed. She could admit skimming a few articles about recent archeological finds, as well as her usual news reports, but the act of writing for publication, for once, did not have the desperate immediacy that academia insisted on. She felt more like herself and was generally excited about the minutiae of life. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never taken a bath here before,” Ellana said, sinking further into Solas’ arms, looking up at him from the corner of her eye. He was reading a lab report, the front cover folded over revealing a number of complicated diagrams and charts. “Even if filling it requires a tremendous amount of water.” 

Ellana let her legs float in front of her. The tub was really more of a small round pool. The pair had indulged hesitantly, mindful of the water usage. Only considering they were trapped inside, it seemed like a fulfilling activity. 

“Truthfully, I don’t spend much time at home,” Solas absently responded. “Not this consistently.” 

Thinking on his comment, Ellana curled up on her side, wrapping her arms around Solas’ trim waist, careful not to stir up any water droplets to stain the paper he was holding. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, do you not like your apartment? It seems like you could live anywhere in Val Royeaux. Why here?” 

“That is a good question,” Solas said gently, setting down the magazine on a shelf adjacent to the tub. He spread his arms out on the edge, pushing his long limbs out to float, pulling Ellana up with him. “When I took the job posting at UofO the Inquisition took part of what was left of my trust and found me this space. The building could be adequately converted for security. I didn't really do much, it came, prefitted, and was therefore easy." 

“There are so many beautiful old areas of Val Royeaux, have you ever thought of moving? Surely, wouldn’t you rather be on one of the boulevards with the historic wine cafes? Or closer to the hospital?” 

Solas paused in contemplation. Ellana was starting to learn how to differentiate between his silences. Judging by the way his brow furrowed, she was careful not to rush him, as inside his mind she was certain he was sorting through a number of different explanations until he found the correct one. Or the one he thought most accurate. 

“I haven’t, and I’m not sure why. You’re right this apartment isn’t exactly where I saw myself living, but between teaching and treating patients moving would have been a disruption. Nor, have I ever had much of a life outside of work. The banal parts or otherwise.” 

“I can understand that,” Ellana said, pushing herself against the edge to half-swim to face Solas on the other side of the tub. 

“I suspect working too much is a quality we both share.” Solas chuckled. “What were you paging through last night when you thought I wasn’t looking? _Ancient Elvhen: Morphology and Syntax?“_

“ _A Critical Anthology of the Elvhen Language from Arlathan to Minrathous: Morphology and Syntax_.” 

“A _little_ light reading? At least the words in scientific reviews correspond to a concrete entity.” 

Ellana laughed. Her exhaled breath rippled the water. 

“Concrete? Isn’t half of your scholarship based on the Fade?” 

“As a matter of speaking,” Solas grinned, coming to float next to Ellana, grabbing her to press his forehead against hers. “I hope it isn’t too forward to say that the apartment is much more interesting with you here.” 

Ellana could feel herself blush. Solas was nothing but an attentive lover, always doting on her. No matter how stubborn she was, he was patient. If she was terse, he was kind. A number of heartfelt gestures marked the hours of the day. When she woke, coffee was waiting for her on the nightstand. Any small preference she had, be it food or otherwise, Solas noted and enabled. She liked it. 

It was a new dynamic for her, one that made her feel vulnerable. 

“The water is starting to get cold,” Ellana pointed out, shyly averting her eyes. “It seems a shame to drain the tub…” 

“Perhaps this is a good time to suggest you practice your magic,” Solas said with a raised eyebrow, moving back a bit to give Ellana room. 

Ellana stared down at her hands. She rarely used her magic outside of her research. Until she moved to Val Royeaux, it had never been a subject she regularly thought about. Unlike most mages, she was perfectly content to live a mundane life. 

“I have a theory,” Solas said, his cadence shifting from playful to analytical. “Your unique connection to the Fade means that you continuously generate mana, so that when you encounter a strong magical object it has enough tinder to light a huge burst, almost like a match in a grain silo.” 

“Which means?” 

“If you cast small spells throughout the day, it should mitigate the short-circuit. Allow the mana through.” 

Ellana placed her hands palm up on the surface of the water. A quick moment later she had summoned a small heat ward. Instead of the temperature gradually rising, the water became instantly hot, almost boiling. 

Before she could react, Solas had summoned his own frost spell, balancing out the heatwave. 

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” Ellana muttered, embarrassed to have failed such a rudimentary spell. 

“ _Tel abelas,_ ” Solas grinned, gliding Ellana towards him again in the water, “Let’s work it out together. For every problem, there is a solution. What sort of training have you had?” 

“Ah, I learned many of the Dalish rituals which have less to do with what humans would call formal magic.” Ellana paused thinking through her childhood lessons with her Keeper. “In the end, it's the same spell, but the motivations are based on balancing the universe, so I don’t have any theoretical understanding of what I’m doing--” 

“Did you learn elemental spells? I know the Dalish do not use blood magic--” 

“Mostly anything useful like healing or cleaning. I learned a few defensive spells--and a number of low-level flame spells.”

“I’m curious, what did your Keeper think of your ability to walk the Fade?”

“The Dalish regularly consult dreams so it wasn’t viewed with suspicion. I was instructed never to speak to spirits. If anything, it's part of what makes the relationship between myself and my clan so fraught. I left them, mage-less, to live amongst the _shem_ who would never understand the importance of such a gift.” 

“It is a gift.” Solas quietly breathed. “I wish I had the outlet you did in your scholarship to use the Fade in such a manner. I can’t say I haven’t benefited from my ability to lucidly dream, but it is more a wonder than an apparatus for my studies.”

“I think my Keeper would be amused at the current predicament I’m in.” 

“Indelicately bathing with an ignorant _shem?”_ Solas teased, with a cynical twist of the lips. Although he said the words as a joke, Ellana knew from her past relationships that to the Dalish a relationship with a “flat-ear” would be frowned upon. Solas was also aware, or so it seemed. She wasn't sure if he found that hurtful or not, and wasn't brave enough at the moment to ask. 

“Searching for the lost orb of the Elvhen people. A legendary artifact with the capability to balance the waking world with its counterpart. A situation brought on, in part, out of refusing to utilize my magic.” 

“Do you wish to search for the orb?” 

“Have I any choice on the matter? The Dalish would say it was fitting that one of the People, who have remained true to the ways of the elves before the fall of Arlathan, would be the one to successfully locate such a thing.” 

“Forget the Dalish. What would you want?” Solas asked ruefully. “That is the opinion that matters the most to me.” 

“If I am being honest, I wouldn’t care to be responsible for that type of power. I can’t help but admit, however, I am curious about it. How could I not be? Searching the past for a piece of missing Elven canon. Not that I don’t understand the stakes are slightly higher than that, all things considered.” 

“I don’t believe I can foresee the future,” Solas mused, taking her hand in his. “but I think mastering a few aspects of your magic might help with whatever comes.” 

“Do you think I should actively search for the orb? I looked in the library for any hints or clues.” 

“To your first question, I would say only if such a quest calls to you. To the second, you won’t find any there. Humans erased every moment of elven history they could. Perhaps there might be something hidden away in a footnote. I am skeptical.” 

“I was thinking of what the spirit said in the library. Of calling me? I haven’t heard any of the songs or felt ill the same way since that afternoon. Do you think there was a force in the Fade that was urging me to activate the Veil fire?” 

“Spirits mirror this world, and all of our thoughts and desires. It is possible that the being picked up on your thoughts or inchoate urge for an answer. I don’t claim to be an expert, however, on the competencies of spirits. Maybe they hold some sway over the waking world in ways we don’t fully comprehend. After all, most of how scientists think magic operates is guesswork. It follows a certain pattern or rule until it doesn’t. It’s what makes situations like these so difficult.”

“For example?”

“If I had presented a case like yours at a medical conference, I would be mocked. Either your magical powers were much more common, or you have adapted to bridge the veil more efficiently.” 

“I have to admit I am overwhelmed. Is it terrible of me to say all I wanted out of life, really, was to publish a few books, find a stable job teaching art history? Maybe down the line make some movements on the margins to help repatriate some Dalish objects. I never thought I’d be thrust into such a battle.” 

“I think I find comfort that if you are being drawn to find the orb by some ineffable force, that is who you are. Not many wouldn’t be tempted to take such an object for themselves. What is that old adage? Power corrupts.” 

“You have such faith in me.” Ellana sighed, dipping her head backward to suspend her body entirely in the water. 

Solas let her float for a few minutes before responding. 

“There is subtlety in your actions. You show a nuance to your thinking that few are capable of. Having faith in you is easy.” 

“Thank you,” Ellana said, sitting up again to gaze at Solas’ face. “If I haven’t said it before, I appreciate you helping. Letting me stay here.” 

Solas brushed a few strands of hair out of Ellana’s forehead before, pulling her against his chest again. Her wet cheek brushed against his wet skin as the water from his arms dripped down her back. Ellana wasn’t sure what wordless message Solas was attempting to transmit to her, but she could linger for a while longer before asking another batch of questions. It was enough for her to know he was there. 

“Ellana, my skin is pruning.” Solas wistfully announced, holding up his wrinkled fingers. “An evolutionary feature, you know, for the body to have a better grip on wet surfaces.” 

“Again with the romance,” Ellana smirked. “Do you think we should get out?” 

‘You don’t have to. I think I’ll make dinner.” 

Ellana sunk deeper into the water as Solas exited his tub, watching as he dried himself off with a gray towel. His defined muscles strained like a dancer as he knelt down. When he offered her a fresh towel, she took it. 

"Although, If you follow, we can get you started working on spells right away." 

"So soon?" she asked nervously. 

"No time like the present. You can experience what all young mages do in their first magic class: freezing and unfreezing water. Although, let's make sure you don't burn my kitchen down." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I'm staging so many convos in showers & baths 
> 
> I'm doing my best to finish this fic by November so I can nanowrimo, so expect a lot of updates. I think we are about 2/3 of the way thru.


	56. The One Where Solas Talks about a Cheese Plate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Solas continue fluffing about.

**CHAPTER 56**

Solas did not intend to make Ellana into a research subject. It was inevitable, in some ways, considering his work as a neurologist was partially to think of human behavior in terms of neurologically motivated patterns. His interest in watching the art historian was not voyeuristic, however, but driven to understand more of Ellana’s world perspective. 

He was intrigued, for instance, by Ellana’s captivating habit to reorganize everything she touched into aesthetic clusters and bundles. She had a gift to make the mundane beautiful as she went about an ordinary day. He noticed it first when the cookbooks they had used were rearranged in terms of genre and color, versus the haphazard stacking he had utilized for years. Cords to electronics were twisted out of the way. Even the vegetables in the refrigerator were not exempt; red, green, and yellow peppers were placed to rest in the chiller drawer as a rainbow. 

He was confident, once Ellana was more comfortable, he’d open his closet to find his shirts and pants folded and hung in sculptural compositions. 

Even more intriguing to Solas, Ellana didn’t seem wholly aware of the custom. She was, he discovered, underneath her assertive exterior, a little shy. and disdainful of attention. The one time he teased her, kindly, about her compulsion to put all of her papers and texts into ornate and well-considered piles before starting to write, Ellana had gone quiet, as if considering if she should or shouldn’t do such a thing.

So Solas watched Ellana slyly from a distance with a quiet passion. 

He did his best to give her time and space to work as they settled into a routine. Solas would wake a few hours before Ellana to read the newspaper or lab reports. Early, but not at the crack of dawn, Ellana would stumble out of bed. The two would work at the table for the majority of the day, sometimes leaving to work out in the guest room, or other times flashing each other a wicked smile followed with a gallop to reach his bedroom--or any available surface. Later they’d cook dinner together, which was mostly ensuring Ellana didn’t mangle the ingredients or inadvertently light something on fire. 

Had Solas ever felt this content before? At night, when Ellana slowly caught him up on every known type of movie, he reveled in the way she’d preen and curl up next to him. 

It was fascinating to watch Ellana’s indomitable focus. 

She had gone from freezing and unfreezing water to all manner of complex spells in a matter of days. The night prior, she had summoned, with a grin, a miasma of light after reading through one of his old magic textbooks. It was the sort of spell most mages avoided, not wanting to waste their precious mana on something so superficial. 

What would she be able to accomplish after a week? It was inevitable that Andruil would surface again. With some more training, Ellana would undoubtedly be able to defend herself. 

Solas was determined to reveal the whole truth of his past to Ellana. Both his prior involvement with Andruil and his connection to the Evanurius. He didn’t want their relationship to progress much farther without giving her the whole picture. Only, when he went to find the words, they evaporated. He had to tell her, certainly, before the semester started. He had another week-and-a-half to do so. 

He was thinking about what to say, pretending to read the newspaper, as far as an explanation would go when Ellana barged into the dining room. The sun had recently set, and dinner had already been eaten and cleaned up after. Initially, he assumed Ellana would ask if he’d like to watch a movie. Upon seeing her worried frown, he knew to expect otherwise. 

Solas could not have predicted the conversation that followed. 

“Do you think the Inquisition would support a short reprieve out of your apartment for an evening?” 

“I-I’d be happy to ask. What did you have in mind?” Solas responded, removing his reading glasses and setting down the paper. 

“It’s a silly thing, really, but it’s...” She held up her phone, holding up a text message. “Actually, my birthday is in a few days, and my friend, Cassandra, she’s the prosecutor if you recall, asked if I wanted to celebrate with drinks at the Kirkwall.” 

“It’s your birthday?” Solas repressed the excitement in his voice. “Why didn’t you want to say?”

“Historically, all my birthdays have been terrible. My parents...” Ellana stopped, her face blanching before continuing, “That is, I didn’t think I’d celebrate but given that this, in Cassandra and Dorian’s words, is a milestone year--”

Solas crossed his arms, studying Ellana’s facial cues carefully. She was, by nature, a mercurial creature, and he was still discovering how to read her. By all appearances, her expression was uncharacteristically anxious. 

“Would you consider having a party here instead? It might be safer, I’d be happy to cook, and--”

Ellana’s face grew increasingly uncertain. He knew she was sensitive about the fact that she might be imposing on his hospitality. No matter how he reassured her that it was he was benefiting most from their cohabitation. 

“Of course, if you prefer the Kirkwall--”

“I wouldn’t want to impose in either scenario.” 

“Of course, I understand if you wouldn’t want the fact that we have been sharing a bed to be widely known.” Solas did his best to keep his voice playful, removing his reading glasses and holding them up dramatically. “After all, what did you call me the first time you saw these? Ah, yes, a ‘real true _hahren.’_ Well, now that you are turning….I only guess your exact age.” 

“Twenty-nine turning thirty.” 

“You shouldn’t mock me as soon you too will need spectacles.” He wanted to echo his agreement with Ellana's friends that it was in fact, a milestone birthday. 

Ellana laughed with a slight blush on her cheeks, moving a few steps close enough for him to wrap his arms around her waist and bring her close. He could smell her lavender and rosemary perfume. His new favorite scent. 

“You don’t seem keen on a party. We could--” 

“Stay in?” Ellana finished for him, slipping onto his lap with a churlish glance. Her hands played with the collar of his shirt. 

“Yes,” Solas laughed, “If you prefer.” 

Ellana paused, leaning into his chest for a few moments, deep in thought. 

Solas picked up the newspaper again, pulling it up, daring to glance at her face in-between pretending to skim the various headlines reporting on yet another schism in the Orlesian court. Gaspard was threatening a vote of no confidence, trying to gather strength amongst the governors. _That explains all of Briala’s phone calls at the executive session._

“I don’t know if I should celebrate this year, the day is rather cursed, and I am loath to think of how a party might tempt fate.” 

“You are superstitious?” Solas said setting down the paper again, taking the time to fold it shut carefully. He was skeptical. 

“Perhaps about some things…” Ellana’s voice trailed off, 

Solas was about to ask Ellana several more questions when the art historian jumped up and paced over to the kitchen. He watched as she fidgeted a bit with a few miscellaneous papers before he followed. As an individual whose life was a composite of finely woven boundaries, Solas recognized a tender wound festering underneath the topic of party planning. 

“Did you want to watch another movie tonight?” He asked gently, placing his hand on the small of her back. “Wine? I have this Antivian Rosato I think you’d enjoy.”

Solas wasn’t avoiding the subject but hypothesized that Ellana would explain more on her own time. Judging by the relieved smile she gave him, his choice to change topics was appreciated. 

Midway through the movie, Ellana reached over to the coffee table to hit a button on her laptop to pause the scene. The two were laying side-by-side, Solas propped up on his elbow, the other arm loosely holding Ellana around the middle. 

With a sigh, she turned to face him. Even in the dim light, her hazel eyes, more brown than green, were still bright and startling. 

“It was kind of you to offer to throw a birthday party at your apartment. I didn’t mean to be so cold about it, I was overwhelmed.” 

“I understand,” Solas continued, pushing a few loose strands of white-blonde hair out of Ellana’s face. “I think we skipped a few steps into our’ hanging out’ as you might refer to it, but these happen to be entirely unusual circumstances.” 

“Listen to you with the hip nomenclature. What have I done?” 

It was reassuring to hear Ellana jostling him again. 

“It’s infectious,” Solas joked. “All these wild terms like ‘hanging out’ that inject ambiguity into already existing paradigms.” 

“I like spending time with you,” Ellana responded breathly, before contradicting herself. “Are we hanging out?” 

“I would call this dating, if you must know.” He said with a raised eyebrow. “Is that acceptable?” 

“Yes,” Ellana replied with a small smile on her lips, betraying her stern tone. “After all, everyone will find out we are together if they come to your house.”

“Would that bother you?” Solas asked. He had to push aside some of his ego. It hurt him a bit to think Ellana might. 

“No, t-that’s not what I meant,” Ellana claimed suddenly, self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible-- _terrible_ at this.” 

“Dating? Considering the dangerous situations at hand, so far, I think things are going remarkably well.” 

Ellana sat up, taking a deep glug of her wine. Solas propped himself up on his elbow to watch as she set down the glass and sunk back into the couch. 

“Opening up. I’ve grown so used to doing things on my own. I haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. With all that is to come with the start of the semester, and the return of our colleagues, I’m aware that the blissful bubble we’ve existed in will vanish.” 

Solas leaned forward to place a hand on Ellana’s shoulder to steady her as the words came tumbling out. 

“It’s only so long until the orb and Andruil will surface, and...things will become harder.” She continued, “Or your work with the Inquisition--what if...?” 

“There is much more trouble ahead, you are right,” Solas observed with all the calmness he could muster. “I care about you. Whatever comes, relationship or not.” 

Solas could barely blink before Ellana wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. For a long time, the pair sat in silence, her cheek pressed against his heartbeat as Solas attempted to soothe Ellana again by smoothing her hair back. 

“I care about you too.” She breathed once her body had finally relaxed. “I didn’t mean to imply that I was embarrassed if people knew we were together. I could just hear the conversation and _all_ the questions and was exhausted.” 

Solas laughed softly. He could commiserate, given his shared love of privacy. 

“I don’t think we have to follow any--or timeline--about what is between us. We can continue as we are if you wish, or more infrequently, if that is your preference.”

“It’s easy spending time with you, peaceful even. Is that too premature to say?”

“No.” Solas chuckled. “I like having you here.”

Thank you for having me here.” Ellana responded with a roguish grin. “In more ways than one.” 

“Yes. W-well.” It was Solas’ turn to blush. He carefully nudged Ellana forward to sit up a bit to look her directly in the eyes. It was time to tell her part of his past. 

“Ellana, there is something I want to tell you--” 

“ _Hmm?” She started_ absently fidgeting with his reading glasses tucked in his front shirt pocket. 

“My adopted mother, Mythal. She was--” He trailed off, frightened that his past might spook Ellana to change her mind. Still, it was better than entering a relationship with more lies than necessary. Yet, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get the words out. 

“--part of the Evanurius?” Ellana offered succinctly. Her face appeared neutral as if she were reading out facts from an encyclopedia. 

Solas stumbled to respond. A sigh rising to his lips turned into a nonplussed stutter. 

“Sorry, I figured it out when we went to the warehouse. I couldn’t help but conclude after seeing how extensive the collection was--or why the Inquisition took care of it--I was waiting for you to tell me.”

“You never cease to surprise me. Although, I suppose in retrospect, it is _rather_ obvious. I didn’t know until after she died--when Leliana recruited me to the Inquisition. I’ve attempted to use the medical degree and resources to help others--.” 

“You’re an admirable man.” Ellana interrupted in a gentle voice, reaching to squeeze Solas’ hand. “I know you to be kind and generous. The circumstances of your upbringing aren’t your fault. You don’t have to justify it.”

“Thank you for understanding. Few would.” 

“You were from a small farming town?” Ellana curiously asked. “What was your life like before you were adopted?”

“Dark, sometimes abusive. I was traded from family-to-family. Sometimes humans who tried to suppress my elven heritage. In the past, I could see how the Circles would have offered some respite in such circumstances, despite their ignorance.” 

Solas could feel Ellana’s eyes studying his face intensely. Her hand was tightening around his. 

“I’m sorry, I can understand--I’m an orphan too--although the Clan usually rallies around any children that require parents.” 

“Leliana told me when you were in the hospital.” Solas hesitated for a moment, “She was considering your emergency contacts.” 

“Oh, that makes sense.” Ellana’s face darkened a bit as she considered the circumstances.

“I didn’t mean to cut you off. I was waiting for you to bring up the subject.” 

“It’s why I hate my birthday. My parents died in a car accident a few days before I turned seven—drunk driver. I was in the back seat and would have been killed too, except my magic came in early. At that moment, actually, a barrier spell.” 

“Ellana,” Solas breathed, reaching out to place a hand tenderly on her leg. “I’m sorry.” 

Suddenly her resistance to celebrate her birthday became clear. 

“I know it’s silly to compound the events in my head. It’s also part of the reason that I didn’t have any passion for magic. It didn’t save them.” 

“By your rubric, it’s not your fault. Let me echo it. Young magic rarely works.” 

“I know that now,” Ellana sighed, returning to burrow against his chest again. “I don’t mean to catastrophize. I’ve had a few birthday parties, and it’s fine. I know its Cassandra’s way to show affection.” 

“Well, I enjoy parties, despite my austere facade.” Solas laughed as Ellana’s fingers returned to fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. _Never able to sit still._

“You seem more comfortable with the idea of a party than I expected.” 

“The machinations, betrayals, dynasties and empires crumbling--how can one _hate_ parties?” 

“Yes, I’m not sure that’s exactly the type of energy I would like to welcome on my thirtieth birthday.” 

“How about a charcuterie plate and a wine list.” 

“Creators, we _really_ are dating.”   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like trapping them in the apartment is v covid
> 
> Admittedly, I feel that Ellana is more of an Aries than a Capricorn. 
> 
> Solas is a solid Virgo all the way.


	57. The One With the Really Long Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a special edition with the party going back and forth between Solas and Ellana's POV throughout the chapter. Also maybe some NSFW content ahead?

**Chapter 57**

Ellana was about to call for Solas and ask for help to zip up her dress when the doorbell rang.

 _Creators,_ she cursed to herself. Cassandra and Gaylen had insisted on helping to set-up for her birthday party. Per the prosecutor’s custom, they had arrived an hour earlier than expected. 

“Sorry, I’ll be right out!” she yelled down the stairs as she could hear the muffled voices of Solas welcoming her friends and Gaylen’s usual exuberance filtering through the closed door as the trio traded polite introductions. 

Contorting her body into a preternatural shape, Ellana pulled the zipper up just far enough to reach the tab mid-back and then shimmy it up below her shoulders. With a rushed sigh, she ran down the stairs, trying not to feel self-conscious as she felt everyone’s eyes turn to look at her. It felt oddly like being at a ball. Even short periods as the center of attention, however, made Ellana uneasy. 

An affectionate hug from Gaylen cured the nervousness, followed by Cassandra holding up a cake box for Ellana to examine. Perhaps the only birthday tradition Ellana cared for, whenever the two friends were together on her birthday, Cassandra would bake a vanilla cake with a layer of fresh strawberries, buttercream frosting on the outside. _All from scratch._

Ellana’s mouth watered at the thought; Cassandra was an expert baker. 

“Happy International Cake Day, Lala!” Cassandra proclaimed in her usual gruff affection. Ellana resisted drawing her in for a hug, giving in much to the prosecutor’s dismay. 

“International Cake Day?” Solas asked with amusement from the sidelines as he hung up the coats in the entryway closet. His expression was aloof, as if he were intensely studying the whole exchange like a science experiment. 

“Yes, Cassandra retitled my birthday ‘International Cake Day’ when we were in undergrad.” Ellana explained, “Mostly, as an excuse to bake cakes, but also so we could celebrate without mentioning my birthday.” 

“Brilliant,” Solas gestured towards the kitchen, “Come in, _please.”_

Cassandra nodded, clutching the cake firmly in her hands. When they reached the kitchen island, the group stood awkwardly staring at one another. Although Gaylen made obligatory off-hand comments about the view and the space, the prosecutor stayed relatively silent, glaring at her surroundings distastefully. 

“May I offer you something to drink?” Solas asked politely, gesturing to the wine fridge. “Wine, fresh-squeezed lemonade, scotch?” 

“I can’t believe you still have that dress, Lala,” Cassandra remarked, pointedly ignoring Solas’ offer. 

Ellana stared down at her outfit. It was one of the oldest things in her closet: a flowy black crepe dress cinched around the waist with a gold belt. She had found it in a Minrathous thrift store on clearance. Recognizing the superior fabric, Ellana had taken the time to lovingly take the seams in by hand to match the sleek silhouette favored by the city. She considered it her first authentic Tevinter look, as wealthy women would stop Ellan to ask where she shopped. None believed her answer.

“First thing I altered after I moved to Tevinter.” Ellana laughed. “Seemed appropriate to wear on this--as you called it--milestone year.” 

“Another birthday, another International Cake Day,” Gaylen interrupted fondly. “Remember when we were in Minrathous five years ago for your birthday, La?” 

“Not clearly. Didn’t we end up at that hole-in-the-wall dance hall singing along with the band? Not an embarrassing story to bring up-not at _all.”_

Gaylen cackled. 

“You were so excited,” Cassandra continued nostalgically. “You had gone to a dance workshop at MIT and finally had willing partners to practice with.” 

“Mostly Sten, who is a _terrible_ dancer,” Ellana laughed. Replaying the memory, she felt transported to that evening. Everything seemed so open and new when she was twenty-five. Any sort of life was possible.

“Got to love a city where the national pastime is dancing rather than gossip,” Gaylen grumbled “If you told me that evening that we’d all be living in Val Royeaux, I don’t think I’d believe it.” 

“Oh, may I ask why?” Solas inquired. His voice was neutral, but his expression was perplexed.

“Are you that imperceptive?” Cassandra attacked, her accent thickening gradually with each syllable as if to amplify her ties to Navarra. “This city is full of non-stop political games. Working in government, it’s almost like the Empress has an army of spies that she employs for every illicit whim. Every time her chief of staff shows up in the District Attorney’s office, some case gets nudged this way or that.” 

Solas and Ellana made eye contact briefly before glancing away. _Did Cassandra know about Solas?_

“I’ve never thought of it in such a fashion,” Solas said as Ellana was about to intervene. “Forgive me, however, for the asking again if I may offer you a beverage.” 

“You mentioned lemonade?” Gaylen replied with an earnest smile. “That sounds great, thank you.” 

“Cassandra?” Solas asked in turn. 

“Water. No ice.” 

“Of course,” Solas walked to the fridge, pulling out a carafe of lemonade that he and Ellana had labored over that morning, along with two glasses. Carefully pouring and handing the juice to Gaylen, next tapping the other empty glass at the refrigerator filter. 

“Thank you,” the prosecutor said firmly as she accepted the beverage from Solas as if searching for some error in Solas’ manners, sighing when she found none. 

“Should we put the cake in the refrigerator?” Solas asked. “Anything else I can help with?” 

“Oh,” Cassandra exhaled, lifting a cooler. “I still need to frost the cake. Do you have a mixer?” 

“Whatever you need.” 

The two chatted for a bit, slinging cooking terms at each other while Gaylen and Ellana watched with the rapt attention that one might give a car accident. Cassandra grilled Solas over every cooking utensil he offered her. When Solas pulled out an apron to wear and presented Cassandra with his spare, she scoffed at him as if it were an insult. 

“You don’t need to help,” Cassandra suggested with a wave to Gaylen and Ellana. “We can take care of everything in the kitchen.” 

Ellana stole a glance at Solas, who nodded in her direction with a wink. “Yes, I think we can manage.” 

“I brought a strategy game along?” Gaylen chimed in. “Do you want to play Settlers of the Western Approach?” 

“Sure, why not!” Ellana laughed awkwardly. It wasn’t the first time she and Gaylen had fled from the kitchen Cassandra considered herself the ruler of. It didn’t seem fair to leave Solas at the prosecutor’s mercy, but she wasn’t sure how to stave off the inevitable. 

“What’s her problem?” Ellana asked Gaylen with a rushed whisper as they scurried over to the adjacent room, pausing at the entryway to retrieve the game box. 

“She won’t admit it outright, but she worries about you and the Doctor rushing in and thinks it’s too soon.” He whispered, fidgeting with his ponytail. “She keeps bringing up the fact that you are essentially living together after a tumultuous start.” 

“Well, some of that might be accurate,” Ellana admitted with a sidelong glance. She didn’t want to reveal too much of the circumstances that had led to her unexpected cohabitation. “It moved fast.” 

“I know you and Cassandra like to plan everything out in ridiculous detail,” Gaylen shrugged. “Not everything works that way. Give her time, you know she is resistant to any change,” 

“Oh, you’re right.” 

“Besides, I like Solas. He seems brainy.” 

“He is, in fact, a neurologist.”

“You know what I mean, Lala.” 

________________________

Solas stole a moment to calm himself in his bedroom. He didn’t want Cassandra to realize how much she had exhausted him with her constant interrogation. He had made a rather haphazard excuse about needing to change into another shirt before the party started. Sitting for a moment at the edge of the bed, he flopped down at the center with his arms flung to either side. 

He smiled when he heard the quick pattering of Ellana’s quickstep echoing down the hallway, followed by the door creaking open. The breath was knocked out of him when the petite woman tackled him. 

“Do you want me to rescue you?” 

“I don’t mind, despite what it might appear as _.”_

A warm and encouraging kiss was Ellana’s answer. Solas wound his fingers through the loose waves of her blonde hair, tracing the edge of her neck with the edge of his thumb as the intensity increased. 

“You are going to make this a very long party if you don’t stop,” he teased in a low baritone, drawing back. 

“Perish the thought!” Ellana exclaimed with a wicked smile. Her lips were bright red and swollen. 

“Will Cassandra’s distaste sour your evening--” 

“No, she is like that with everyone. Don’t worry too much. Cassandra hated me the first time we met. Accused me, wrongfully, I might add, of stealing her idea for a project in our intro to literature course.”

Ellana began to finger the buttons of Solas’ shirt open. Even though her fingers were slow and deliberate moving from top to bottom, By the time Solas thought to stop her, his shirt was almost entirely off.

“Ellana?” Solas uttered with surprise. “Our guests.”

The thought of people downstairs made Solas anxious and exhilarated at the same time. 

“Cassandra told me you came up here to change,” Ellana explained, her voice controlled and factual, as if reporting for a late hour news program. “I thought you could use some guidance. I’ll keep it straightforward then.” 

“That’s kind of yo--” Solas’ sarcastic quip trailed off into a moan. The sensation of Ellana’s hand tracing out abstract patterns on the inside of his thigh made him jerk with pleasure. By the time she had unzipped his pants and pulled them down his thighs, he was muttering in nonsensical elven. By the time her mouth was around his shaft, her hand working him skillfully, he had all but forgotten to cover his mouth politely for the benefit of their downstairs guests. 

________________________

“So judging from the tier of champagne we are drinking, you are getting laid.” Dorian proclaimed with a dramatic flourish, holding up his flute in a mock toast. 

Ellana blushed, unable to suppress the unrepentant grin that followed. More than “getting laid,” she couldn’t help but feel euphoric whenever the subject of Solas came up. A fact she found startling. 

The friends were standing in Solas’ guest room, supposedly staring at a gestural painting hung in Solas’ office over his desk. The artist insisted that Ellana give him a private tour even though he and Bull had visited before with some of the Chargers in the not-so-distant past. Really, Ellana knew, Dorian wanted to gossip privately. 

“Well, who knew a gas leak would lead to romance.” Dorian continued, “How long have you been here? All winter interim? Barley surfaced for air. “

“That might be accurate.” Ellana chuckled, taking a sip from her champagne flute. Solas had very generously--despite her protests--taken out many expensive bottles for the party from his stockpile.

Throughout the day, she had dreamily assisted Solas in the kitchen. After watching her struggle to fulfill some basic tasks, like chopping fresh vegetables, Solas prompted her to arrange the charcuterie plates and glasses on the island. A job she took on with relish as string music played in the background. Occasionally, she’d peek over Solas’ shoulder to watch as he assembled a veritable cornucopia of small bite-sized wonders.

It was mundane. _And perfect._

“I’m so glad you found each other. Dare, I say _finally.”_

“I appreciate the support,” Ellana laughed. “I’m afraid not all of us gathered this evening seem enthused by the outcome of events.” 

“Oh, really?” Dorian responded with a sarcastic wave. “I hadn’t noticed some of the hostility. Was Cassandra just a die-hard Fenris fan, or?” 

Ellana sighed, putting her hand to her forehead. She knew her friend’s behavior came from a place of care, but it was beginning to irk her. 

“Have you heard from him? You were on for a hot second and then off just as quick.” 

“Texts about the gas leak. Fenris called to wish me a happy birthday this morning, which he always does. It’s not awkward, in that I think we are both ready to move on. It’s not exactly comfortable at the moment, for him, I believe, as he knows I’m here and have stayed here not too long after he left.” 

“Does Solas mind?” 

“No, I showed him the texts. All he said was, he ‘didn’t expect the two of us wouldn’t be friends, given our history’ and that ‘if he felt otherwise he’d tell me.’ I couldn’t help but find it--.” Ellana paused, searching for the right words, “There is an ease between us--I’ve not felt before.” 

“So you and Solas are official?” Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“We haven’t really had that talk yet.” 

Ellana hadn't really been "official" with anyone other than Fenris. In actuality, the thought terrified her. Romantic commitments had a way of triggering her abandonment issues. She knew that Solas was more than devoted, but she still held back out of habit. 

“You both are _absolutely_ smitten. I don’t think either of you has stopped beaming. If I weren’t, at heart, a romantic, I would find it putrid.” 

Ellana laughed with a small indignant snort. 

“What was the rest of your break like? I missed you terribly.” 

“Well, I do have some news, Bull and I are going to start filling out adoption papers. My parents are backing the endeavor with the magisterium. With all luck, we’ll be dads by next Spring!” 

“Congratulations! Oh, that is _so_ fantastic.” Ellana jumped up to hug her friend. “Why did you not say so earlier?” 

“We haven’t told anyone else, and it’s your night.” 

“Don’t be silly--” 

The doorbell rang from the downstairs—a loud chime. 

“I thought everyone was here already?” 

Ellana knew that downstairs they’d find, in addition to Cassandra and Gaylen, Bull and Josephine--as well as Agent Blackwall, who had been enlisted for security. The unexpected guest of the evening had been Dorian’s childhood friend, Felix, who had come to stay with the two in Val Royeaux after some trouble at home. 

When Dorian had called to ask Ellana if Felix could come, she was more than enthused about adding his childhood friend to the festivities. 

“Varric,” Dorian stated factually. “He found out it was your birthday and wanted to drop off some wine, Solas said it was more than fine. He’d probably stay if you asked.” 

“Of course! I don’t want to end this conversation--” 

“Let’s get the door. I’ll catch you up later in exhaustive detail?”

“Deal!” Ellana said. 

The two stumbled down the stairs, droplets of champagne falling on the hardwood floors. Reaching the front door, Ellana saw the eager face of the Dwarf who was holding up a cloth tote bag filled with a small stockpile of bottles that rattled against one another like a drunken windchime. 

“Varric. It is so wonderful to see you!” Ellana exclaimed, leaning down to drag the Dwarf into a tight embrace. 

“Hey kid, thought I’d stop by and wish you a happy birthday.” 

“Will you stay?” 

“I don’t want to impose.” 

“Please--” Ellana gestured for Varric to come in, amused by his lack of resistance as she assisted him in taking off his red coat and hang it in the entryway closet. 

Bull and Gaylen were sitting at the dining room table--with Felix’s input--working out some sort of intricate schematic from a game they had been playing online together. Solas and Cassandra were still in the kitchen, wrapped up again in an intense conversation. Ellana heard some sort of mutter of Cassandra lecturing Solas on his stance regarding the Orlesian crown. 

“Chuckles!” Varric called, walking over to hug the bemused elf and hand him a tote bag of wine. “So good to see you! What a great party!” 

Ellana followed behind, stepping up to the island where she picked at a plate of cucumbers covered in smoked fish and capers. She didn’t wholly notice Solas’ hand on her lower back. The sensation was so familiar to her now that she automatically rotated her body to pull Solas into an embrace. 

Ellana forgot where she was until a series of hoots from the other room erupted. A crescendoing chant that forced her to be painfully aware of the lack of privacy. Everyone but Cassandra and Blackwall were ululating. 

_“Creators”_ she muttered so quietly she didn’t even think Solas could hear her. 

Solas gave a strained laugh at the attention, smoothing Ellana’s hair as she buried her face into his chest. She knew that her friends had good intentions, but the attention embarrassed her. 

“Who would like to play Wicked Grace?” Varric shouted over the noise, pulling out a thick pack of cards from the inside of his jacket, nd slapping them down on the glass table. 

“Can you go a day without playing that game, Varric?” Bull asked, rising from the sofa where he was sitting with Gaylen. 

“Never have and don’t plan to,” the Dwarf admitted as everyone roared with laughter. “What are we betting?” 

__________________

Solas had been caught off-guard by Felix’s abrupt arrival at the party. He would never have guessed that Dorian’s childhood friend to be the same man who had guided him to jump off a cliff. 

If that wasn’t complicated enough, the moment that they made eye contact, Solas could tell by the wink he received from Felix that his presence was deliberate.

How could Solas have prepared for such a thing? Everything had gone as expected. 

Josephine had arrived at the scheduled time, seven o’clock, in an outfit that was the apotheosis of Orlesian fashion. Her gold puffed sleeves were so large that she had to turn sideways to fit through the door. Solas hadn’t met the political science professor more than a handful of times and froze when the diplomat swung her free arm around him in a friendly hug. A bright bouquet was slung in the crook of her other elbow, pink roses peaked out of the brown paper. 

“Welcome,” He had greeted her shyly, running his hand over the back of his next. “Ellana is in the kitchen with Cassandra if you--” 

Solas wasn’t able to finish his sentence as the Antivan beauty spotted a freshly shaved Blackwall who crossed his arms with a smug look as Josephine walked up to introduce herself. 

Before he could close the door, he heard the ding of the elevator and an exhilarated Dorian call out, “Now the party can begin! Solas, I hope you are ready--” 

“Hello,” Solas had said in turn, all the breath pushed out his body as Bull squeezed him in a hug so strong that it lifted him off the ground. 

By the time the qunari set him down, he had to do a double-take as he recognized the stubbled head of a brown-eyed man standing next to Dorian. 

“This is my friend Felix! Knew each other in diapers and all that.” 

“Yes, so nice to meet you,” Felix had responded, reaching out his hand to politely shake Solas’ hand. “Thank you for letting me tag along.” 

Solas could barely process any of the subsequent banter. One moment he was hosting a small party for Ellana. The next, all of the subterfuge that defined his other life had bubbled up. Not at Inquisition headquarters, but his own home. 

“Welcome,” he muttered robotically. It took all of his training, and a large swig of wine, to regain his emotions. He was almost relieved when Felix had approached him with a request to view his art collection, a painting of Dorian’s in particular. 

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Solas had begun casually. Although he and Felix were recently introduced, he didn’t sense any ill-will from the young Tevinter mage. A professor of mathematics, he thought it likely that his father had unwillingly dragged him into his bid to unravel the secrets of time travel.” 

“My father, he disappeared. The Venatori camped at the estate were even astonished.” Felix whispered to Solas in the upstairs office. “I thought that he’d surface, alive or dead, given time, but the Inquisition isn’t quite sure where to start, and it’s been more than a month. There are reports that some of the wealthy elite shelter Andruil in Arlathan--old allies that see a new Elven kingdom emerge--if that’s the case, he’s most likely dead.” 

“I’m sorry,” Solas said gruffly, tapping at the breast pocket of his jacket. His glasses made a clicking sound. “Truly.” 

“He did it to himself. No matter all his theoretical premises and scholarship, he was a fool for power.” 

“I can put you in touch directly with the Nightingale, if you thought it prudent.” 

“I’d appreciate it. I’m sorry to crash your girlfriend’s birthday party…” 

“I’m not sure I’d use that terminology. Ellana isn’t my girlfriend.” 

Mostly, Solas didn't want to spook Ellana. 

“You are dating?”

“Dating, yes.” Solas continued with a shrug. Felix had trusted him enough to be candid with him. He could return the favor. “Although we haven't, as the Orlesians like to call it "gone steady." With hope, perhaps.” 

“That wasn’t a gas leak, was it. That’s why Ellana was staying here so long.” 

“It wasn’t a gas leak,” Solas confirmed, shaking his head. “I'm afraid what happened is classified.” 

“Don’t tell Bull. He blathered on about cover-ups the entire car ride over.” 

__________________

“Is your friend single?” Josephine whispered with a small giggle, sneaking a glance towards Agent Blackwall. The metallic fabric of her dress shone in the low light of the fire. 

Ellana attempted to unobtrusively turn her head towards where the Grey Warden was sitting. Leliana had insisted that he attend as extra security. She wasn’t entirely sure, nor did she guess that Solas would know either. 

“I’m not sure I can ask Solas if you like?”

“Would you?” 

Ellana stared at the Grey Warden, who was nursing a soda in a highball glass. She hadn’t studied Blackwall in detail, but on second glance could see his appeal as his body was solid muscle. He had put on a suit for the event, his beard freshly trimmed. 

Josephine didn’t respond, distracted as Blackwall shot her a dashing smile, running his spare hand through his thick brown mane. 

Ellana watched from the sidelines, enjoying as the flirting between the two increased. Josephine was laying a hand on a grinning Blackwall’s arm. The pitch of their voices had changed, and Ellana did not want to intrude. 

“Lala,” she heard Cassandra say behind her. “Did you want to cut the cake?” 

“Please. I should find Solas,” Ellana said, searching the living room and dining room. 

“Your friend went with Felix upstairs to look at Dorian’s painting.” _Friend?_

“Oh--I’ll. Go grab them.” 

Ellana climbed up the stairs, making the short walk to the second guest room. Peering into the open door, she saw Solas and Felix staring at one another. Sensing her approach, the two men instantly quieted in a manner that made Ellana feel weary. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt; we are about to cut the cake.” She said, her words slow and cautious. Although both men were smiling at her, something in the air made her suspect that something dark lingered under the surface of their conversation.

“Ah,” Felix explained, “Forgive me, I pulled Solas away from the party to see this painting. You see, I had tried to buy the work from Dorian when I saw it in his studio and discovered in the car ride over that Solas was the owner.” 

Solas nodded in agreement, leaning against his desk. 

“Of course,” Ellana replied dryly. “Did I mention the cake? Strawberry?” 

“Cake!” Felix exclaimed, raising his hands in an exaggerated salute. “I’ll head right down.” 

True to his word, Felix bowed and walked out the door.

Solas was almost out of the door before Ellana caught him by the hand, pulling him towards her. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Solas, I’m curious, had you met Felix before?” 

“I knew of Felix Alexius’ mathematical work; there are some overlaps in my research. Why do you ask?” 

“You two just seemed to recognize each other. Right away”

“We’ve been to some of the same conferences.” Solas shrugged again. “Shall we go downstairs before we draw more of Cassandra’s ire?” 

“After you,” Ellana said coolly, careful to twist her words in such a way that Solas was aware that she didn’t wholly believe his account. She was sure he was lying--but about what? And why? 

_________________

The party ended shortly after midnight. 

When the last round of Wicked Grace finished, the group moved into the living rooms to talk around the fireplace. The discussion was warm and full of jokes. Solas was glad to feel Ellana plop down next to him on the couch, the distance between them elapsing until he felt her lean into his chest, his arm around her. 

Whatever novelty their relationship might have for the group had vanished. 

Josephine left first, accompanied by Blackwall, to “see her safely to her car.” Twenty minutes later, he texted Solas to say that his shift had ended. 

Varric left next after receiving a call from a mysterious woman named Bianca. 

“Was that a booty call?” Dorian muttered in Tevene, much to the confusion of Solas and Gaylen. 

“I'll address your booty later,” Bull responded, much to the amusement of Felix and Ellana, the latter of whom almost fell to the floor laughing as it was clear the qunari thought his husband had propositioned him. 

Cassandra fell asleep on Gaylen’s shoulder around ten, left to her own devices, until she began to snore. Her partner jolted her awake, making excuses and leaving with a bag full of leftovers and an empty cake pan. 

The moment the lawyers left, Dorian plugged his phone into the stereo system to play old Minrathous dance tunes, forcing Ellana up with a giggle to turn her this way and that in complicated weaving steps. 

“May I cut in?” Solas asked Dorian by the end of the third song. 

“After you,” Dorian nodded, gesturing for Bull to join him as Felix clapped along to the beat. 

Much to Solas’ relief, the song was slow and romantic, and Ellena rested her cheek on his chest as he swayed her awkwardly around the room to the music. He felt so terrible keeping the truth of how he knew Felix from her. If anything, he only wished to protect her. Whatever consequences would come from such a decision, however, would have to wait for another day. 

“I miss dancing in those old bars,” Ellana said dreamily to Solas in between songs. “The ones with the white plaster walls, that reek of cigarette smoke of a thousand generations.” 

________________________

After a long procession of goodbyes, Solas and Ellana were left to a quiet apartment once again. The moment the door closed behind them, Ellana sought out Solas in the kitchen, who was packing the dishwasher. Things had been cleaned up throughout the night, mostly by a stern Cassandra, and the kitchen was nearly spotless except for a quarter of a strawberry cake on a plate wrapped in plastic wrap. 

“Thank you,” she announced in a clear voice. She watched with enjoyment as Solas deposited a dishwasher pod and shut the appliance door. “It was perfect. Every moment.” 

“I don’t know if you have much to thank me for. You’re not intoxicated enough for being thirty.” 

“You’re right. I was so busy talking that I barely drank. I would like to do my best to avoid a hangover, however, as the last one I had lasted more than a couple days.” 

“Just wait.” Solas chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to add any undue pressure, of course, but now that my labor is done, I would enjoy one last glass before bed.” 

Thinking on what Dorian said, Ellana observed that the usually somber neurologist appeared lighter than she had ever seen him.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Solas asked, humming a bit, as he skipped over to the wine fridge, drawing out a bottle of one of the Dalish wine bottles, making a production of it as he twisted the gold foil off and unscrewed the top of the cork out with a faint pop, pouring two glasses with a hum. 

“Yes. Unambiguously.” 

The pair stood in silence for a bit, sipping their glasses of wine. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, do you like living here in Val Royeaux?” Solas said casually while taking a sip. His words were nonchalant, but Ellana sensed worry. “Would you prefer to move back to Minrathous?”

“At the moment, I don’t have any plans to.” 

“Ah.” 

“I don’t know if I fit into this city, but there are certain joys,” Ellana said with a coy look in his direction. It was too soon, she knew, to count Solas as a reason to stay in the city, but she was starting to find it hard to imagine a life without him. Judging by the expression he flashed her, he was thinking the same thing. 

“You appear so animated when you talk about your life in Tevinter. I would hope you would find an equal place here in Orlais.” 

“I’m having a good time right now. I wouldn’t leave prematurely.” 

“A relief to inquiring minds.” 

Ellana finished her glass. She picked up one of the empty wine bottles to throw in the recycling and paused. She had never looked at the bottle of her favorite wine at the Kirkwall before. She recalled that Varric had mentioned that the rose was manufactured on a Dalish reservation somewhere in the Exalted Plains, but hadn’t given it much thought. 

The logo startled her. At the center was a gold circle, around which ink drawings of animals circled. Ellana traced her finger over each, identifying a menagerie that included: a hawk, a hare, a halla, and a dragon _._ The image didn’t bring up any immediate references to her trained eye. The ink drawings of the creatures were slightly mawkish, not even elven in style.

_What was it that Andruil had said to her outside her office all those months ago?_

“Solas?” Ellana rushed as he picked at some fruit in a glass container. ‘Have you ever seen this image before?” 

“No, what--” 

“When Andruil attacked me at my office, she said the strangest riddle about a hawk and a hare...chasing the sun?” Ellana traced the foil globe at the center of the animals. “I think she also mentioned a halla. Definitely the dragon. I thought it was nonsense. Does that sound familiar to you?” 

“Not particularly,” Solas said, gently taking the bottle from Ellana and pulling out his reading glasses from his breast pocket to study the image more closely. It would surprise me if this were the source. Andruil doesn’t think much of the Dalish.” 

“Do you think there is any connection?” 

“I wonder,” Solas’ voice trailed off as he turned the bottle around in his hands, reading the tiny text. “The vineyard isn’t far away. We could drive and stay for a couple of days--before the term starts? Return in time for class prep. That is if you are interested.” 

“I am. Would the Inquisition let us--”

“I have a feeling that Agent Blackwall will be accompanying us, if not a Templar, but it’s certainly possible.” Solas paused, his voice going low with the next statement: “We can make our plans tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Ellana asked with an arched eyebrow, setting down her glass and tucking her hands behind her back. 

Ellana could feel a trace of Solas' mana edging over the line of her lips and down over her skin. With a single ragged breath Solas grabbed her waist to guide her in for a kiss. The heat in his hands sparked a fire in her as they traced over the roundness of her ass, lifting her onto the island in front of him in one smooth motion, their lips barely separating. 

“ _Amahan, sathan.”_ Ellana breathed as Solas slid his hands up underneath the drape of her skirt, playing with the elastic of her underwear, throwing them to the floor with an impatient huff.

“That was a long party,” Solas whispered in her ear. “A lovely but agonizingly slow party.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amahan, sathan* (Here, please).
> 
> Agh I'm so sorry for how long this update took. It's a long chapter! I'm afraid I might be a week or two until next posting--some exciting things in my personal life and all that. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone reading so far!


	58. The One Where Solas and Ellana Debate Elven Identity Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long drive, a long chat. Ellana is resistant to practical footwear.

**Chapter 58** ****

Solas set luggage down in the trunk of his car with mixed emotions. On one hand, it felt liberating to re-engage with the outside world. On the other hand, it was bittersweet to leave the protective cocoon of his apartment walls. The last week-and-a-half had been blissful, if not the most relaxing of Solas' life. Re-entering the world was an invitation for that to be over. What would come next?

The couple did not set-off to the reservation right away. The first stop was was Ellana’s apartment to pack her “weather-appropriate” clothes as the conditions in the Exalted Plains would be swampy at best. 

“Do you not own winter boots?” Solas had asked a little incredulously when Ellana had pulled out her gold clogs from her closet and put them on her left foot first. 

Solas knew that Tevinter was warmer year-round but thought that the art historian’s usual drive to organize and plan out every small detail would have prompted her to purchase some reasonable outerwear.

Especially given that Ellana was frequently shivering even with the heat turned on full blast in his apartment. 

“No, but if I layer my socks, it should be fine, right?’ Ellana muttered while pulling out several wool sweaters and thick corduroy overalls that Solas was certain she had never worn before. 

The statement had resulted in a tense diversion at a sporting goods store outside of Val Royeaux where Ellana had reluctantly tried on several pairs of footwear she termed as either “bulky” or “unnecessary” before landing on a pair of black rubber lace-up boots that she categorized as “feasible.” Solas had to keep himself from chuckling on multiple occasions, watching her performatively huff around the aisles. Or when she had balked at his suggestion of heavy-duty gloves and hats. 

Instead of trying to reason with her, Solas took out his phone, musing out loud about the weather forecast, noting that the Dalish reservation was below freezing with the promise of another winter storm on the second day of their stay. 

“No hail, at least. Still, it is up to you.” 

“I suppose that Val Royeaux will only grow worse in the months ahead.” 

“Correct.” 

“I probably need winter boots if it continues to snow.” 

“Advisable,” Solas responded with some bemusement. “UofO rarely shovels the walkways. Not to mention that half the train platforms are exposed. I can imagine lecturing while soaking wet would not be enjoyable.” 

Ellana nodded almost as if she had come to the conclusion herself. Solas had to excuse himself to use the restroom to keep from laughing in front of her during check-out. Her frown had been so severe that the young associate helping her--a scrawny human adolescent--had gulped nervously. He couldn’t tell if her displeasure was from the prospect of wearing unfashionable clothing or the future cold, but, as much as Ellana’s stubborn tendencies could be frustrating, Solas enjoyed them. 

Her foul mood evaporated the moment he turned the car onto the highway. Solas thought to turn on the radio a few times but stopped himself, finding the stillness restorative. Ellana curled up in the passenger seat with a thick, hardbound volume in her hand. Every twenty pages or so, she’d take a break to peer out the window at the snowy rural countryside of Orlais.

When night fell early, there were still a few hours left before they reached the hotel. 

“Would you like me to drive the rest of the way?” Ellana offered at a gas station. She had gone in as he refueled, bringing back an iced coffee for herself and a small black coffee for him. “I didn’t know if you were tired.” 

“I’d appreciate it.” 

Sliding into the passenger seat, Solas helped Ellana adjust the seat. The act made him realize just how smaller the art historian was compared to his long limbs. Her head barely rising to mid-chest, it took some modifications to allow her to reach the gas pedal. 

“Guess I’m driving the rest of the way there,” Ellana had joked, both of her hands on the steering wheel, and eager grin. 

“I probably should have asked when the last time you drove was.” Solas reflected as Ellana exited the parking lot. He was glad that the roads were clear, realizing that her lack of experience with snow would be a liability otherwise. 

“Don’t worry; I’ve been driving since I was ten. After all, I’m a Dalish farm girl.” 

“Yet, you did not own snow boots.”

“Denial is a powerful mental state. I can’t express enough how much I hate winter.” 

“Yes,” Solas laughed, taking a sip of his coffee and sinking into the leather seat with a content sigh. 

The dark fields whooshed by, the sparse headlights illuminating small stretches of yellow weeds breaking through the surface of white snow. 

“I propose we consider a more finite plan than chasing after a clue I found on a wine bottle,” Ellana announced absently. The road was straight and empty over flatlands. It would be like this for the next hour or so. If she was concerned about what lay ahead, she hid it well. 

“Do you think that the clan will speak with us?” He responded. “Tell us why they selected the image as their logo?” 

“We are signed up for a winery tour. We could start there,” Ellana shrugged. “My Keeper didn’t know much about the clan. She’s never met any of the Keepers from Orlais.” 

Solas had lurked close by when Ellana had made the phone call to her Keeper. He couldn’t hear the specifics of the discussion, but the steps of Ellana’s pacing on the hardwood floor were harsh. The soft Elvhen tones quickly eroded into growls. Ellana’s voice grew surly as the conversation wore on. 

“No luck?” he had asked, leaning against the hallway wall when she burst out of the guest room. 

“No,” Ellana shook her head. “My Keeper was not amused at my ‘sudden interest in Dalish affairs,’ and thought I should ‘consider the needs of my clans first before I went on a wild snoufleur chase across Orlais to track down some useless mythology.’” 

“Did you have any luck with the clan in the Exalted Plains?” He had asked, drawing the art historian into an embrace. He sensed that the estrangement from her clan bothered Ellana more than she wanted to admit. 

“They said that Keeper Hawen would be more than happy to speak with us, in person, but that otherwise they were unwilling to become involved in any _shemlin_ research projects no matter the intent.” 

“Did you tell them you are Dalish?” 

“Yes, but I ‘haven’t proved my word’ to the clan. The only way to do that is to visit. There is a hotel, as the clan’s converted the reservation for tourism, and I took the liberty of booking us a room for a few days from now.” 

The amount of work that had gone into security had distracted Solas from thinking through what would happen upon their arrival. Unmarked SUVs occasionally passed by his car. He didn’t recognize all of the agents but knew that Blackwall and a Templar named Cullen would share a room next door. An awkward arrangement, Solas was sure, but a necessary one. 

“I think in some ways,” Solas deliberated carefully, “we’ll need to move forward by instinct. I know the area is littered with ruins. Perhaps we will be lucky to stumble into another clue.” 

“I admire your faith,” Ellana responded half-sarcastically, checking the mirror behind them. “I still don’t understand why you aren’t nervous about Andruil attacking us.”

“She is from Arlathan.” 

“Ah,” Ellana said bitterly. “Amidst all this bedlam, I had almost forgotten about the prejudice of the Arlathan elves.” 

Solas hadn’t been avoiding the conversation. He hadn’t thought of the conflict before. In retrospect, it was foolish not to recognize their differences. 

When the city-state was founded a few hundred years ago, a wedge was driven between elven brethren, the Dalish refusing to leave “the Way,” as they called it, or comply “with _shemlan_ complicity.” Rather than leaving the reservations, the humans had subjugated many of the clans too. The Dalish had burrowed, refusing to recognize Arlathan’s sovereignty. In turn, the elves of Arlathan had joined with human governments in labeling the clans as “savage” and “superstitious fools.” Anyone wearing _vallaslin_ was banned from the city. Ellana would have never been allowed past the city-gates. 

Not that Solas had any intention of ever returning to Arlathan again. 

“You know I don’t share those views,” Solas said, reaching out to lightly place his hand on her thigh. “I don’t pretend to understand the Dalish, but certainly, there are things to be admired.” 

“Our backgrounds are so different,” Ellana mused as if thinking out loud. “I’m surprised by the fact that I’m Dalish, and you do not have never been a subject we’ve talked about before.” 

“Does it bother you?” 

“I’ve never--as you would say--dated another Dalish elf before.” Ellana shrugged. “I’ve also never actually met and spent time with anyone from Arlathan before.”

“I’m not from Arlathan,” Solas responded defensively. “At least not wholly.” 

“You benefited from your connections to the moneyed elite there.” Ellana shrewdly pointed out. “You can’t tell me that upbringing didn’t include any number of conversations about the backward ‘ink-faced halla riders’ in the woods.” 

“Mythal, my mother, didn’t allow such talk in our home. I won’t pretend not to know what you are referring to, but it was never an intolerance I shared, at least not consciously.” 

“I don’t mean to attack you,” Ellana continued gently, turning to glance at him momentarily before returning her eyes on the road. “I would rather address this openly before we arrive. Have you ever been to a Dalish reservation before?” 

“Once,” Solas admitted. “It was unpleasant.” 

“When?” The curiosity in her voice comforted him. "What happened?" 

“It was the year after the Evanurius were captured. I was called to help a young hunter who had unexpectedly come into magic. He was rendered mute by a spell misfiring. The clan thought it was blood magic.” 

“Was it?”

“No, it was shock. I treated the hunter, and tried to explain the situation to the keeper only to be pulled into a car, called an ignorant flat-ear, and escorted off the reservation.” 

“Did you find out what happened to your patient?” 

“Leliana sent some agents out a few weeks later. They found his decomposed body floating in a river.” 

“I’m sorry. Sadly, I know that’s not a unique story. The clans are all different, given their separation. Up until the last fifty years, you have to understand. Most tribes weren’t able to leave their own reservation boundaries even to meet with one another. Some left but were never able to return to their home. The insularity didn’t help some of them--as one might say--superstitious tendencies.

“I never thought to ask--”

“My grandfather, who died before I was born, was from an alienage in Ferelden. I was able to apply for citizenship. It’s how I ended up with funding to go to undergrad. I was able to take the college entrance exam in Denerim. My clan is not as remote as some of the others, like the one from your story. There are a lot of members in Clan Lavellan who have ancestors from the ailenages, so we are not as isolated from the rest of Thedas.” 

“I didn’t realize the specifics were so complex--”

“Few do unless they live them.” 

The two sat in contemplative silence until Ellana began to speak again. 

“It is strange to see how different clans have adapted. It’s odd that in Orlais, given that the Dalish were banned from cities for so long that many were able to mobilize the land given them into lucrative businesses. Kirkwall limits the trade of reservations, and Orlais encourages it as a way to keep their cities from being overwhelmed by elven politics.” 

“And Tevinter?”

“There are no Dalish clans in Tevinter.” Ellana shook her head subtly, a wry smile spreading to her lips. “When the tribes were nomadic, they never crossed that border. The entire time I lived there, I only met a handful of former tribespeople. I think that’s why I encountered so little racism there. At least not of any violent variety. Sometimes I was called ‘exotic’ by a well-meaning passerby, but nothing like “knife-ear” or “rabbit.” 

“That was a foolish question.” 

“No, it was an earnest one. I appreciate your interest.” 

“What is your clan like?” Solas asked carefully, changing the subject. “You don’t speak about them often.” 

“Poor, tired, and angry.” 

“Are there any initiatives to spearhead prosperity?” 

“My Keeper believes that welcoming tourism belittles the tribe. The land the reservation is also poor in soil content. Most tribespeople raise halla and rams and weave. It's how I learned how to sew.” 

“I thought the Dalish did not kill halla unnecessarily?”

“Oh, no. If you let the hair grow out, it can be harvested. It’s high-quality wool. Only the government taxes the goods at such a high rate in exchange for what they call state protection.” 

“That’s criminal.”

“Well, it is Kirkwall,” Ellana laughed. 

“Don’t say that in front of Varric,” Solas warned with a sardonic grin. “It would wound him.” 

“Oh please, you don’t think he has any number of shady deals in the back of his bar? Sometimes I hear him talking to the Dwarven cartel when I’m getting a drink.” 

“I’m well aware of Master Tethras’ endeavors. We consulted together several times.”

“Oh, really?” Ellana’s nose twitched as it often did when she was surprised. 

“Yes.” 

“I should have guessed.” 

“He should probably make some attempt to cover up his misdeeds.”

The silence surfaced again. At first, Solas thought he might have said something that hurt Ellana’s feelings or said something insensitive. He felt reassured to feel her hand creep over his with a squeeze. 

“I should probably warn you, since we are about twenty minutes away from the hotel, that the Dalish have different views on privacy. Especially since we are both elves.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yes, be prepared to be asked endless invasive questions, _especially_ about our relationship.” 

“It will be fine--”

“I want to prepare you that you are going to be berated by any number of elders when you are going to propose, and if you don’t have a ready answer, they are going to ask what’s stopping you--persistently. The Dalish love weddings and view it as a central mission to pair everyone up.” 

“What do you recommend, I say?” 

Ellana shrugged, turning off an exit where a green sign read _Hawen Reservation And Dalish Preserve_ in common and Orlesian. 

“Well, by Dalish standards, I’m an old maid, so you could just say I’m your mistress.” 

“What! No." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to try and finish this fanfic before nanowrimo to take my novel back up. We'll see how far I can get?


	59. The One Where Solas Eats Bugs

**CHAPTER 59**

The snow began to fall when Ellana pulled the car in front of the hotel and took the keys out of the ignition. 

Ellana wasn’t sure what to make of the Dalish reservation. It was the opposite of where he had grown up. Instead of the thatch-roof cottages and aravels spread out across farmland, slate brick townhouses and gift shops flanked a narrow winding street. The neon storefront signs flashed a veritable encyclopedia of Dalish crafts ranging from pottery to ironbark jewelry. 

A large community building was the only similarity—an efficient rectangular construction made out of concrete with square windows. The clan would gather there, she was sure, for communal meals and holidays. If not, schooling. It was surrounded by large statues of frozen wildlife, a herd of oversized stone halla ignoring a crouching wolf poised to hunt them. A gold obelisk was at the center, positioned to catch the way the sun moved throughout the year. 

It was wholly familiar and yet not. Glancing at Solas at a stop sign, Ellana tried to figure out what he was thinking. He had gone silent the moment they passed by the billboard, welcoming them into the main stretch of town; his eyes carefully scanned the landscape as if to diagnose it. 

The Dalish hotel was located across the river from the town, surrounded by a dense forest. Walking in, Ellana surveyed the over-the-top wallpaper with gold branches in alternating patterns. Canned music played in the background, the soft hum of traditional pipes and drums beating out a steady rhythm. 

Overwhelmed, Ellana found it hard to move forward, prompted when Solas took his hand in hers to walk to the front desk, which was shaped like a gigantic log with a flat top at the center. A bare-faced young girl, no more than fifteen or so, stared back at them. Her blonde hair was twisted into an elaborate braid--the kind that Ellana had long neglected to fashion for herself. 

“Welcome,” The girl chirped in common. Ellana could only weakly smile as she watched the girl’s eyes widen when she spotted her _vallaslin_ and then narrow as she searched Solas’ in turn, blinking rapidly when she found it absent of any markings. 

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” Ellana politely responded. _“Ar'an gara sura.”_

She hoped reverting to Elvhen would be enough to prompt the staff member to do so in kind. Ellana knew that the Dalish regularly assumed that city elves were ignorant. The girl might as well call Solas a “flat-ear” and be done with it. 

“What name is the booking under?” 

“Lavellan, _satha.”_

“One moment, please, and I’ll get your booking pulled up.” 

Clacking away at a keyboard, the girl looked towards a computer screen, humming as a printer whirled underneath the desk. 

“My partner speaks Elvhen,” Ellana corrected. First, in common, out of habit, repeating the statement in Elvhen after a long pause. 

“It’s alright,” Solas whispered, clutching her hand. “ _Tel’sila.”_

“The restaurant is closed, but there is a room service menu in your room.” The girl continued placidly. “Complimentary breakfast starts at seven in the morning.” 

Ellana wasn’t often homesick, but underneath her rage, her mouth watered at the prospect of unleavened bread dipped in honey or fermented root vegetables over grain. She was excited for a taste of home--and also excited to introduce Solas to the cuisine as she was sure he had never had any before. It would be an easy starting point to explain Dalish customs. 

“Alright,” the girl grabbed a set of keys and the printout. “Room five is located on the second floor. Please don’t hesitate to call the front desk if you need anything, Mr. and Mrs. Lavellan.” 

It was hard for Elllana not to cringe at the mistake. Resisting the urge to gauge Solas’ reaction, instead of kneeling to pick up her suitcase only to find that Solas had already grabbed it. The moment they entered the elevator, his body shook with laughter. 

“I’m glad you found that amusing,” Ellana mumbled. She could feel the heat rising to her face as Solas shot her a wicked grin. 

“A harmless mix-up.” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t believe she behaved like that towards you.” 

“She is young. Who knows what instructions she’s been given. I am not going to dwell.” 

Ellana shook her head the short walk to their room. She found it reassuring that Solas wasn’t as hot-headed as her but suspected that some of the cultural subtext of the exchange with the front desk associate was lost on him. Not for the first time, she hoped that the days they spent on the Dalish reservation would be fruitful. 

She was also curious to solve the puzzle. No matter what sources she had reverently consulted, there was no evidence of the orb--or what its powers might be. The only connection they had found had been the wine bottle and Andruil’s little rhyme.

It made for a strange quest, but Ellana’s gut told her it was a necessary one. 

If anything, Ellana was glad to be able to use her mind actively. As much as she loved teaching, lecturing for introductory art history courses was no longer as challenging as it once had been. Since finishing her dissertation, part of her felt discontent and restless. Sometimes she thought her career was checking off an endless series of prerequisites that never returned bigger challenges. 

A small voice in her head kept telling her to return to Minrathous. Unexpectedly, the drive through the Dalish reservation had amplified that feeling—a taste of home, but entirely not. The uncanny pastiche of human and elven norms make Ellana uneasy. 

Yet, what would that mean for her and Solas? She was exhausted, being pulled in so many directions at once. 

The moment they entered the hotel room, she could sense Solas’ excitement. His mana was bright and vibrant, pelting about like fireflies. 

“I’ve only ever seen this style of room in travel shows,” Solas marveled after setting down both of their suitcases in the center of the hotel room. Stepping a few paces forward, he slid open one of the paper doors to reveal a plush bed made up on the floor. The mattress was thick and welcoming, with fine green cotton bedding. 

Ellana had booked one of the mid-sized Dalish style rooms. A suite with a bedroom and traditional wooden bath, all separated by paper sliding doors. Intricately woven straw mats lined the entire room.

A glass door opened to a balcony that overlooked the frozen river; electric lanterns hanging off the window illuminated the accelerating snowfall. 

It was simple, but it reminded her of her childhood home. A bittersweet feeling. The house her parents had wasn’t much bigger, just one extra tiny room for her. 

“The paper doors were invented out of necessity when the clans started to fashion houses as newsprint was readily available.” Reciting facts helped Ellana push away her personal past. Eventually, artisans figured out how to make their own out of recycled pulp, hence the distinctive texture.” 

“Fascinating,” Solas said, moving over to kneel at a small table located off to the side. A cast iron teapot sat on the surface along with a tray loaded with an assortment of tea leaves and two small earthenware cups. He picked up a package and smelled it. “Although, I must admit I’m not too keen on tea.” 

“I wouldn’t repeat that too openly if I were you.” Ellana sighed, sinking to sit opposite him. She meant to tease him, but the words came out sternly. “The beverage is very significant in Dalish rituals and is served with every meal--it's rude not to drink it all.” 

“I’ll endeavor,” Solas responded, his voice a little curt. Ellana spotted a bit of heat from his sapphire eyes, almost if their luster had momentarily paled. _Had she hurt his feelings?_

“I’m sorry that came out much harsher than I intended.” 

Solas didn’t answer, reaching for her hand over the table. 

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the right blend,” Ellana observed softly, unsure how to repair the moment. Reflecting on the day, she felt chastened, recalling how much her stubbornness had dominated the day. Solas had borne it all patiently--tenderly even. 

“I’m willing to explore, certainly,” Solas answered with some tautness to his voice. A long pause followed before he changed the subject. “I know we are not here for pleasure, but it is a bit of a vacation to be outside of the apartment with you.” 

“Yes.” Ellana agreed, fidgeting a bit on the floor. Picking up a leather-bound menu from the table, she paged through it. Solas had packed sandwiches for the car ride, along with some snacks, but those had been consumed hours ago. She was about to suggest a whole array of options when she spotted the high prices. 

“This is profligate,” She groaned, biting her lower lip. “I suppose it does keep the reservation afloat, so I shouldn’t complain.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Solas said casually, picking up another menu and glancing at the list. "The Inquisition is footing the entire bill. State-sanctioned research trip.” 

“I should have booked a larger room then and called it restitution."

“Yes,” Solas laughed. “Although, in this instance, I think that finding the orb is imperative not only for the wellbeing of elves, but for Thedas as a whole. A small expense, really, even if our end result is small.” 

“No pressure.” 

“A worry for tomorrow.” Solas squeezed her hand. “Do you know what you’d like to eat? I defer to your expertise.” 

Ellana skimmed through the menu, picking out some favorites: soup made out of fermented soybeans, flatbread with yogurt and preserves, and pickled plums wrapped in grain. Much to her amusement, Solas insisted on trying the ground cricket crackers with nut cheese. 

“Ecologically friendly,” he assessed on the first bite, “and delicious.”

“Yuck.” Ellana laughed, picking up a second bun packed with bean paste and plums. ‘My clan’s food is slightly different. More root vegetables. Less sugar. Although, I wonder if that is for the benefit of tourists.” 

“This certainly puts your healthy eating habits into focus.” Solas mused. “Arlathan food is full of rich creams and complicated cakes. Not to mention meat.” 

“You never speak about Arlathan. How long did you live there?”

“For university and medical school. I didn’t know if it would make you uncomfortable, honestly, if I brought it up. Nor did it seem relevant as I am not fond of the city in the same way you are of Minrathous.” 

“Why not?” 

“It never felt like home.” Solas breathed. “Mythal had an estate in the Korcari wilds. I’d spend my vacations there. The house was stripped of anything of value when she died. The new owner bulldozed it over.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ellana said. Her comment was partially obligatory but mostly heartfelt. “Do you feel at home in Val Royeaux?” 

“It is a place,” Solas shrugged. “I care about working at the hospital--my students.” 

“Do you feel like you belong, though? In the city?” 

“If I’m honest, I don’t know if I’ve belonged anywhere in particular. I’ve always thought that’s what drove me to the Fade--more than any magical connection--it was freeing to be amongst the spirits and have endless discoveries. There were a few years where I think I slept more than I was awake.” 

“How did you get through medical school?” Ellana couldn’t help but joke. “I lived on caffeine in graduate school to the point where my doctor had to intervene.” 

“The spirits of wisdom helped, actually. They’d quiz me, and occasionally I’d nap in an emergency room bed, learning from the past in a similar way that you did for your book. The spirits that gathered there would play out what had happened or reveal hidden aspects the other doctors never spotted--I learned from it.” 

Ellana gasped before covering her mouth. It was an involuntary reaction. 

“You don’t believe the superstitions do you? Spirits are harmless if you accept their limitations. Lack of awareness is what leads to possession, not any specific temptation.” 

“I’m sorry--It’s a hard belief for me to overcome after having it drilled into me my entire childhood.” 

“That--I didn’t mean to scoff at you. Forgive me.” 

“No, I know intellectually you are correct. It's such a taboo in Dalish Lore--not to mention humans.” 

“Oversimplification. I appreciate that you consider it. My words were too quick to judge.” 

Solas’ voice trailed off. Ellana was no stranger to the look he flashed her. Intense and sensual, as if he could see every part of her. The longer they were together, the more self-conscious it made her. She wasn’t sure if it was realizing that their feelings weren’t transient or that she was letting up her carefully considered boundaries to let Solas closer to her. He had snuck by so quickly. She hadn’t had time to adjust to sharing a life fully. 

Rising, she walked over to Solas, leaning to wrap her arms around his shoulders. His long fingers reached up and stroked her arm. She was so close she could see the freckles dusting his high cheekbones and the fine lines surrounding his eyes. Ellana tried to communicate in her embrace how frightening she found it; suddenly, how difficult it would be to be without him. 

“Solas?”

“Yes.”

His voice was eager and kind. 

“I think I am going to go swim in the pool.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basing the idea for the hotel room off of a ryokan.  
> Ma serannas=thank you  
> Ar'an gara sura=we have arrived  
> satha=please  
> Tel’sila=don't worry  
> (all from https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI)


	60. The One With Even More Spy Shit

**CHAPTER 60**

Solas watched with confusion as Ellana hurried out of the hotel room to swim in the basement pool. 

Their dinner conversation had ended abruptly when she had muttered a few excuses about needing to swim to work off some excess energy. Driving in the car had made it difficult for her to expel enough mana. Sometimes she’d tug a barrier spell around them and release it a few minutes later. It hadn’t been enough, he knew. Exercise would help. 

Still, he didn’t need Ellana to tell him she was spooked. Her mana had transformed into a heavy saturated cloud, unable to burst. The pulse of her magic overwhelmed the room. Solas wasn’t sure if it was the quest at hand or their developing relationship. He suspected, with some dismay, it was the latter. 

Nodding solemnly, Solas joined his fingers together in front of him as Ellana rushed to her luggage and grabbed her swimsuit. Running into the bathroom, she emerged a few seconds later in a black one-piece that dipped low in the back, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, hair knotted into a tight ponytail. 

Solas was about to remind Ellana to bring along her cell phone. Walking towards the door, he caught a glance of Ellana and Blackwall chatting. The burly man was also in his swimsuit, his laughter echoing in the hallway. “ _What a coincidence,”_ the agent boomed.

“Hey Solas,” Blackwall waved with a smirk when he spotted him holding up the device in the doorway.  
  
Solas waved back.

Ellana looked up at Solas expectantly. Her frown turned into a grin when he held her cell phone up. 

“Oh, thank you!” She exclaimed, her hip cocking toward him as she skipped back to take it from him. Solas was surprised when Ellana stood on her tiptoes, pulling herself upon his shoulders, to plant a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“I’ll be back,” she whispered in Elvhen. He tried to keep from ogling her when she skipped down the hallway. 

Closing the door behind him, Solas leaned against the flat surface, sinking to the floor slowly. His long arms hung limply on either side. He paused before drawing out his own phone from the inside pocket of his sports jacket. Clicking through a few buttons, he dialed a long stream of numbers. 

“Hi,” the Nightingale said, picking up the receiver. Her voice was short. Solas could hear a few papers shuffling around on her desk. “How are things in the Exalted Plains?” 

“Bad time?” 

“No,” Leliana sighed. “I’m in my office sorting through reports. I’m glad for the interruption, actually. It’s been a boring day.” 

“I don’t believe you have ever had a boring day,” Solas laughed. “Or ever completed paperwork.” 

“How is the romantic getaway--” 

“Ellana is swimming in the pool--indoors that is. There is a blizzard.” 

“How quaint.” Pain was pulsating from Leliana’s voice. She changed the subject before Solas could ask what was wrong, “Is it possible that the orb has been so close the entire time?” 

“If my suspicions are correct, at least another part of the puzzle. Whatever Ellana’s magic is capable of, it seems to be drawn to--”

“Does she know?”

“About her magic? Not really.” Solas lied. It was easy. “She has zero idea, however, about how close she is to discover the orb--or at least point us in the right direction. I’m not sure if it's her connection to the Fade that guides her forward. It is curious--”

“This is the closest we’ve ever been able to come--if we can recover it…”

A piece of manuscript in a vault near Halamshiral had a couple strands of text that haunted Solas. He had only read the script once in person. A scrap of paper no longer than his thumb with minuscule writing that was barely legible to the naked eye. Ancient words in Elvhen that not even the spirits knew: _Stars scattered over Dirthavaren. The edge of the will reveal itself and make way for revelation. First, the hawk will chase the hare around the sun. The halla will flee when the dragon hunts it. The wolf will howl, and the city that once bore the world will fall._

Mythal had given it to Leliana a week before she had been murdered, naming it a type of key. It had been hidden away ever since. 

“Are you certain that’s what Andruil was referencing?” 

“What else? Her hubris kept her from thinking that there would be any connection to the Dalish. I can’t say my pride didn’t keep me from I’m certain that the label on the wine bottle must connect to something. You know, of course, that the Dalish don’t write down their lore or history. It's an oral tradition passed down from Keeper to Keeper.” 

“Why didn’t we make the connection before--”

“Ellana never mentioned it. If you recall, after Andruil attacked her, she told you and I both that ‘the woman spouted nonsense.’ Seeing that logo jogged the memory. Mine as well.” 

“You two finding each other is kismet,” Leliana marveled. “Perhaps the Maker is watching over us.” 

“I-I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

A tense pause followed. Solas wasn’t sure what to say without upsetting the spy mistress. They had only had one conversation, long ago in the past, about his views on human religion. In his opinion, there was always a reasonable explanation. Perhaps it was his elven upbringing? At least the elves didn’t believe in concrete entities, just a push and tug of the cosmic forces. It was not a conversation he wanted to repeat. 

“Agents are circling the reservation. Keeping far enough away from startling the Dalish--as you know its protected land--but close enough that if you do find something, the ordeal will be wrapped up neatly.” 

“I appreciate it.” 

“Solas, I need to ask you as a friend.” 

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to answer.” 

“Alright,” He could feel himself get flustered. Whatever Leliana was about to ask, he was sure, would hurt like a cut tendon. 

“Your feelings for Dr. Lavellan, are they serious?” 

The question caught him off-guard. He couldn’t find the words. An inchoate part of himself unfurled. He realized how much he had buried, if anything, for self-protection. 

“I hope, my friend that this goes well. Sometimes we are only given one chance at love.” 

“You sound as if--”

“Over again. Thinks it’s indecent to run around as a married woman. She won’t even return my text messages now.” 

“I’m sorry, Lelianna. Truly.” 

“Thank you--Solas, one other thing that I wanted to bring up. Your young friend from Minrathous, his father--”

“Hmm?”

“No sign of him. Or the artifact, which I find more than worrying--even if it is like a piece of lint on a pile of cow dung that is Inquisition business.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about the artifact,” Solas chuckled; despite the somber topic, “if Andruil were in possession of it, we wouldn’t don’t have this phone call. Perhaps Alexius went underground. What of the Venatori?” 

“No sign of them either. Some echos, but then again, the Chantry there isn’t exactly friendly given the schism. The Inquisition doesn’t have the same reach that we do in Orlais.” 

“A relic of history--that schism. Funny, it can’t be remedied with a straightforward conversation.” 

“Yes, well--”

“That was bitter. I should not--thank you for doing what you could for Felix.”

“He’ll be teaching at UofO this semester.” 

“Imagine that,” Solas said sarcastically. “Another Inquisition agent educating the radical youth of tomorrow.”

“If only they had any idea,” Leliana said playfully. “Well--I should let you go. Will you call me--”

“You’ll be the first.” 

“Oh, and Solas.”

“Yes?”

“The room’s minibar tab is on you.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	61. The One Where Solas and Ellana Confess

**CHAPTER 61**

By the time Ellana rinsed the chlorine out of her hair and dried off, Solas was in bed reading. All of the lights were turned off except for a low lamp clipped to a side table next to the bed. The soft illumination made Solas appear as if he was lost elsewhere. His hands were buried in a stack of thick lab reports, a pair of wire-rim glasses on his chiseled nose. 

Ellana walked towards the bed in a thin jersey romper, a silk dressing gown pulled around her shoulders, cinched at the waist. Solas had left the curtains up over the windows to watch the accumulating snowfall, but the frigid air cut at her skin. 

The two had barely spoken since Ellana returned from exercising. Solas had been preparing to go to bed, and she had rushed to the bathroom to shower. Swimming laps around the pool calmed her, but she still felt it was as if all her emotions were a tangled heap of string knotted together, impossible to unwind. 

Some ineffable impulse prevented her from crawling into the bed, so she sunk frozen, cross-legged near Solas’ feet. As soon as she sat on the ground, he pushed the binders off his lap into an orderly pile on the floor beside the bed and glanced up towards her. A hand nestled under his chin thoughtfully. 

“Hello,” she greeted him. Her body was quaking from the cold.

“That’s beautiful. Your gown. Did you make it?” 

“Yes, I waited until Thursdays for a new episode of the Hero of Ferelden, an hour of work, and then back to research,” Ellana confirmed, folding the dressing gown and placing it next to the bed. 

It was a vintage silk robe. She had bought it used, like much of her wardrobe, and lovingly washed the antique cloth before mending the trims. Small black ribbon-work roses lined the sleeves and hem. It had taken her a year of needlework to restore it. 

Her eyes followed the smooth blankets over his body. Solas was shirtless; the blanket pulled up midchest. Unlike Ellana, his body temperature ran hot. Usually, he slept in the nude, or on the rare occasion, a pair of black cotton boxer briefs. Sometimes she’d wake in the middle of the night, his warm limbs wrapped around her. 

“Come to bed.” His voice was low. It was a tone Ellana had never heard before from him. It was subdued without any of his usual intensity. She knew the invitation was not about seduction--but something deeper. It only served her emotions to roil more inside her chest. 

Standing, Ellana began to untie her dressing gown. Her movement causes the fringe along the hem to tickle her shins. As she pulled one shoulder off and then another, she caught Solas’ gaze. Something about the way he looked at her in the dim light made her feel more exposed than any state of nakedness they had shared in their passionate moments. 

Slipping between the sheets, Ellana turned to lay on her side away from him as Solas slowly drew the fabric up over her shoulders, tucking the coverlet around her. A few minutes passed before she could hear Solas lightly exhale, take off his glasses, and sink on his back beside her. 

“We are not the best at communicating with one another,” He observed, an arm guiding her to lay on his chest, the other to stroke her hair. “Your mana alternates between feeling like a flock of birds and a rubber band stretched taut. Is there anything--”

His voice trailed off. For a few moments, the steady thud of his heart was the only sound in the room. 

“No.” 

Solas’ grip around her body tightened before he nudged her back over on her side, his body flush against hers. 

“You’re trembling,” He marveled, tracing a burst of heated magic over her skin. Ellana didn’t know how much time passed as his hands had moved down over her arms and back up. As the tension in her body evaporated, Solas moved the tips of his fingers over the edge of her curves until she was still and calm. No longer frozen, she turned to face him, rubbing her nose against his. 

“I didn’t mean to be short with you earlier. I can be...difficult.” 

“I’m mostly relieved that you have winter boots for tomorrow.” 

“Why are you so patient with me?” 

“You are important to me,” Solas whispered, his voice ripe with emotion, a hand cupping her cheek. “More important than I could have imagined.” 

Ellana inhaled, she wanted to confess the whole of her feelings for Solas. That she was frightened at the depth of her emotions--and the anxiety she carried that Solas would leave her as soon as she put down her carefully formed boundaries. Only, the words would not come. She suspected he knew this, however, first in the way he drew her into a tight embrace. 

The two had quickly fell upon each other. It was nice, and because she was difficult, she went on top. 

In Solas' arms again, given all that was to come, she fought off sleep longer than he did, focusing on her lover's breathing and the steady beat of his heart. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this. I didn’t intend for this fanfic to get so long (and we have a bit to go). Be prepared for these two to break to quarantine in the next few chapters.


	62. The One Where Solas, Ellana, Blackwall, and Cullen Attempt A Winery Tour

**CHAPTER 62**

“Your accent is coming back,” Solas teased Ellana in a hidden corner of the winery warehouse. The two had adventured down into the downstairs storage area filled with wine casks after sampling a cross-section wine made on the reservation. Ellana gaped a bit at the large mural of the winery’s logo painted on a white plaster wall. 

“It is not,” Ellana denied. Her vowels were unmistakably stretched out, the consonants hard and guttural. She had a rosy glow on her cheeks, as throughout the tour, Blackwall and Cullen kept surreptitiously handed her their glasses so that they could remain cogent in the event of an attack. 

Solas had never seen Ellana tipsy. Not that they didn’t drink, but only at a moderate pace, careful never to cross over the threshold that would result in a hangover. Her mana, which had been crackling over the last few days, had turned into a quiet lull. Her arms affectionately clutched around his middle as she rested against his chest. 

It was a relief to see her relaxed. Ellana had seemed apprehensive that morning, asking Solas several times if he thought it was safe to adventure out in the open. The conversation had concerned him as the art historian was usually self-assured. 

“We should go back upstairs and save Blackwall and Cullen.” She ineffectively whispered, her voice slightly above the decibels that one couldn’t easily overhear. “There is only so long one can convincingly pretend to drink wine. ” 

The tour had been short. A young man with a blonde ponytail and a gold earring had guided them through the barren vineyards, showing them wisps of grapevines dried to a husk. The entire time he had watched Ellana and Solas with some suspicion, the facade that they--along with Blackwall and Cullen--were tourists had quickly fallen apart. When asked if everyone in the group knew each other, the two warrior men had waffled, shrugged their shoulders, and admitted that they were here for “research.” 

“Research?” the guide curiously asked, the blue lines of his _vallaslin_ twisted into a frown. “On wine?” 

Blackwall and Cullen shifted nervously. The two gruff men, both solid muscle in jeans and gray puffer jackets, did not resemble stereotypical professors. Both hadn’t shaved that morning, a fine dust of hair along their square jaws—rugged, handsome in a daring way that one rarely found amongst academics. 

“We are scholars from the University of Orlais,” Ellana had offered weakly. “I study Dalish visual and material culture and my colleagues--”

“Visual and material culture?” The guide interrupted curiously. “What is... _that_?”

“Art History,” She stumbled in a formal tone, “Slightly different, I consider how objects might be used in everyday life rather than a museum, for instance..” 

The more explanations they offered, the quicker their cover story unraveled.

“Oh, so you are professors?”

“Correct,” Solas chimed in. “We were curious to see how the reservation had modernized and built new sources of revenue.”

“Do you study business?” The guide asked. 

“I’m a doctor.” 

“Professor Fen’Harel is my boyfriend,” Ellana declared with some hesitation. Solas had to resist laughing at the blush that spread across her cheeks. “He is a neurologist--but was interested to join.” 

Agent Blackwall guffawed while Cullen had done his best to look away from the awkward exchange. _That is one way to become official._

“These gentlemen here are in the anthropology department,” Ellana continued unconvincingly, “We are collaborating on a new project. Although this is casual, of course, we aren’t officially interviewing. That is, we thought we had some time to explore some of the Dalish reservations over interim.” 

“You are Dalish,” The guide asked pointedly in Elvhen, staring at the soft branches on Ellana’s cheeks. “Did you study your own clan?”

“Um, eventually, it is far, in the Free Marshes. Clan Lavellan.” 

“I see,” He chewed on his lower lip before shooting Solas a piercing stare, asking in common, “You, however, are not Dalish.” 

“No,” Solas admitted quietly, caught off guard by the questioning. “I am not.” 

“Who are your people?” 

“Professor Fen’Harel is an orphan,” Ellana said shortly, searching Solas’ face as if to ask permission, which he gave with a strained smile. “He is from a small farming village. His parents were probably from an alienage. He _does_ speak Elvhen.” 

Solas was quick to note that she did not mention his history at Arlathan. He didn’t blame her. The specificity of personal information that she offers made him blanch a bit. It was an adjustment for him to think that a stranger would be interested in such things. He recalled what Ellana had told him that morning, that the Dalish considered answering such questions important, mostly given that outsiders had so historically abused them for so many years. 

“Ah,” well, let’s be off—the entire walk, somewhat miserable in the bitter weather. Ellana had shivered before Solas had whispered in her to warm herself using her mana. In the end, the group found themselves abandoned in a drafty warehouse packed full of fermenting barrels. A tray of sparkling liquid sat out for them to sample on a long wooden table gleamed in the afternoon sun; the reflection of the wine glasses refracted small pools of rainbow light on the surrounding walls. 

“A light show and alcohol,” Ellana had joked, sipping on her first glass much to Blackwall’s amusement.

Without a word, Ellana had wandered off sometime later as the men played a quick card game that Blackwall had pulled out of his pocket. Solas had followed shortly after, given that she was wobbling a bit in her boots as she climbed down the steps. She was wearing one of Solas’ wool sweaters over a pair of leggings, a few wisps of white-blonde hair escaping her top-knot. 

The two had lingered there a bit longer than necessary in the downstairs. 

“When we get back to Val Royeaux, I think I will buy, as you recommend, an _actual_ winter coat with _actual_ insulation.” She laughed, saying the last few words in an impression of his baritone voice, “as I am freezing.” 

Solas didn’t answer except to chuckle, in an effort not to be smug. He guided Ellana to go up the stairs, admiring the sway of her body. Upon landing, she whipped around to say something. Surprised, Solas had tripped, his hands catching the wall to break his fall. The gesture failed, and he found himself in a pile on the dusty floor, his limbs tangled with Ellana in an undignified heap. 

“So you’re the couple the entire reservation has been gossiping about.” A raspy voice boomed out. Stepping out the light, Solas saw a grizzled man wearing a quilted vest made out of green fabric with careful zig-zags embroidered from collar to hem. There was no mistaking the stranger as Dalish, as his long white hair was wound into braids, his elaborate _vallaslin_ melting into wrinkles. 

At first, Solas thought he and Ellana had inadvertently caused some outrage, but the worry vanished the moment he spotted a bemused twinkle in the elder's eye. 

“Let me help you up, _da’len,”_ The man said, offering a hand to Ellana, who rushed to take it. Her face instantly sobered, her posture straighter than Solas had ever seen it, followed by a deferential bow. There was no doubt, he realized a few seconds later: they were in the presence of the clan’s Keeper. 

“ _Hahren,”_ Ellana greeted, switching to Elvhen, her eyes averted. “Thank you for allowing us to visit. The clan’s hospitality is unquestionable.” 

Solas had never seen Ellana so cooperative with authority. 

The pitch of her voice was higher than Solas had ever heard it, her tone respectful as she answered questions ranging from why she is visiting to what she’s studied; Ellana’s eyes occasionally darted to look at Solas. After some time, the Keeper offered an outstretched in Solas’ direction. To his relief, he continued speaking in Elvhen, “I’m so sorry, to not greet you properly. I was carried away talking to this accomplished _da’len._ Welcome.” 

Solas couldn't help feeling like he was meeting a parent. 

“Thank you,” he answered. The words come out slightly clipped. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suppress the Arlathan twang. “I appreciate you allowing us to visit.” 

“Would you like to tour the rest of the town? Lionel says you were asking about how we’ve modernized the reservation. There is an evening meal tonight. Your human companions are also welcome to attend.” 

Noticing how Ellana’s eyes widened with surprise, Solas realized the invitation was a serious one. He didn’t understand the entire subtext but guessed it was rare for a pair of humans to be invited to dine with a Dalish clan, certainly, without being referred to as _shemlin._

“Thank you. That would be--”

“I also heard you're a doctor?” Keeper Hawen asked Solas abruptly. “I understand this might be an imposition to ask, but we have a young one who is in a bad way. Would you take a look at him? I’ve done what I can...” 

“Certainly. Is it an emergency? I have medical supplies in my car.”  
  
Keeper Hawen nodded gravely, emotion creeping into his voice, “I’m afraid the teenager in question was playing with some magic he shouldn’t have. I’ve done what I can, but the burns are festering.”

“Burns?” Solas exclaimed with some surprise. Any sort of magic that powerful was likely to be blood magic. He turned to search Ellana’s expression for a clue of how to answer. Her eyes were distant. Solas was sure she was replaying the story he had told driving in the car. 

“A doctor isn’t likely to arrive for some time,” She breathed. “If infection sets in too badly...” 

“I’d like to help,” Solas responded decisively. “We’d have to stop by the hotel first. Would you be able to give us directions?” 

“I appreciate it,” Hawen nodded thoughtfully. “I will drive you. My car is right outside.” 

“Right,” Solas said, turning to look at Ellana. “Do you mind if--”

“No, go,” Ellana replied quietly. “I’ll go back to town with Blackwall and Cullen. Only you’ll call me if you need help?” 

“Of course.” Solas reached out and squeezed her arm. He fought back an impulse to kiss her, realizing that such an overture would be inappropriate. 

The car ride was the opposite of silence. Alone, Keeper Hawen had shepherded Solas into his large range rover and driven down a side road towards the hotel. Snow flurries fell, the start of the promised winter storm. Soon, the air would be thick with precipitation. 

“Are you two bonded?” Keeper Hawen asked Solas the moment the car was in gear. 

“Bonded?” Solas said he guessed at the meaning of the word but wanted to confirm his suspicions were correct. 

“Married,” Hawen asked. “Or spoken for.”

“No, dating.” 

“Are you planning on speaking for her?” 

“Proposing? It’s a little early for that. We are not long a couple.”

Solas thought that would be the end of the interrogation but found it quickly escalated from there, with Keeper Hawen asking many questions about how long he and Ellana had known each other and how they had met. He had given, as much as he could, truthful answers. As his life continued to grow outside of the Inquisition, he became more aware of how much his life necessitated lying--even to someone he barely knew. 

“She’s not a doctor. Why did she offer to help?” 

“She’s a mage. We both are.” 

“Air was thick with it--should have known. Been a while since I was around a mage that strong. She was a first, wasn't she, before she left?"

"You're a mage?" Solas said with some surprise, realizing for the first time that whenever Ellana was in a room, all other magic was overpowered.

"All Keepers are. Suspect that's why Dr. Lavellan has a bad relationship with her clan now-to have a mage leave is difficult. Or have you met them?" 

Solas paused before answering. He didn’t fully understand the implications of Ellana leaving her clan to pursue her studies or how it continued to affect her. He had carefully prodded the subject, only to find that asking made Ellana bristle. Considering that, and the tense phone call he had overheard with her Keeper, he didn't feel right sharing his speculations. Especially not knowing what the true consequences were. 

“Ah,” Keeper Hawen breathed. “Headstrong young ones like that are hard to keep on the reservations. She’s too smart not to go off on her own way. Could tell just by looking at her.” 

“Sir,” Solas changed the subject steering the conversation with the polite form of Elvhen. “Keeper Hawen. Can I ask, what will happen to the patient after, if the magic he used was--"

“Blood magic?” 

“Yes.”

“The boys fourteen. I don’t know where he got his hands any possible spell or magic object he used, nor do I care too. I think when you see his injuries, it will be clear that he’s already been punished enough--if he survives.” 

The care in Keeper Hawen's voice struck Solas. His gut told him this was a man who could be trusted to do the right thing. 

"How long since his injuries?" 

"A week." 

“There isn’t a doctor coming from the Orlesian government, is there? You don’t want to report the incident and risk further consequences for the boy. That's admirable.” 

“No,” Keeper Hawen admitted with a sigh, pulling into the drive of the hotel. “My first, he’s in medical school right now, to avoid situations like this. I know you are not Dalish, but you have to understand what happens when the Orlesians step in--the work we have done to remain independent--in the past they even took some of the young ones away.”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Solas reassured. “I will do what I can--”


	63. The One Where Cullen is a Jerk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussions of grievous bodily harm and mention of slavery

**CHAPTER 63**

“These are very, _very_ Josie,” Ellana held up a pair of delicate gold earrings molded to resemble delicate branches for Blackwall to inspect. 

After the wine tour, Cullen and Blackwall had escorted Ellana into town to explore the rest of the town. Finding it empty except for a handful of bored shopkeepers. Ellana initially found it strange to see so many of the Dalish handicrafts from her childhood with a neon price tag affixed to the bottom. That and wherever the trio went, Elvhen whispers followed. Ellana didn’t overhear anything sinister. Mostly, the voices speculated on her relationship with Solas or what the group might want. Still, even if Ellana didn’t overhear anything sinister, she found the small-town politics wearing. 

Each strained _vallaslin_ lined smile that greeted Ellana made her feel so close to home--yet at the same further than anywhere she had ever gone. It felt as if she were pulled into two directions at once. 

That and her search for any other clues regarding the mysterious sigil had come to an abrupt halt. After Solas and Keeper Hawen had departed, the guide had looked at her as if she were crazy to ask about the brand, shrugging and saying in an annoyed tone, _“It's been that way for a few hundred years. Who cares?”_ Blackwall had grabbed her arm gently when she opened her mouth in anger, cutting her off from the lecture she was about to unleash. 

_“We have more time to look. Let the lad be.”_ The warden had whispered to her. _“Might be embarrassed not to know.”_

At first, she thought Ellana might find another clue in the tourist shops, but found no further signs of sigil amidst the piles of handwoven baskets and earthy ceramic bowls. Not even a shop dedicated to animal statutes used in religious ceremonies yielded any results. 

Crestfallen, it had been a welcome distraction for Ellana to see Blackwall rummage through jewelry displays. She watched him pick up a few options before it dawned on her who he might be searching for. 

“Are you looking for a gift for a certain mutual friend of ours?” She asked, creeping up behind the burly human, startling him so much that he dropped the chunky bead necklace he was holding up to the sunlight. 

“Might be,” He responded, dragging his fingers through his thick brown hair like a comb. 

“Can I be helpful? I’d love to--” 

“That be nice of you.” The Warden said with a sheepish grin. 

They were in their third store when Ellana found the pair in her hands. The entire time, Cullen had watched apprehensively from the sidelines as Ellana and Blackwall gleefully sorted through bins of ironbark and metal trinkets. Ellana attempted to engage the Templar, but every time she ventured to get to know him, he sputtered. No matter the question. 

“You’re not from Orlais?” Ellana asked him while Blackwall was checking out. 

“N-no.” He replied, his face a dark red. “I am Fereldan.” 

“Oh, I’m from the Free Marches--but I’ve traveled in Ferelden. Denerim especially”

“Blackwall...told me.” 

When the group moved to have lunch at a small cafe filled with picnic-style tables with no menu other than the chef’s whim that day, Ellana had attempted to learn more about Cullen as soon as their meal was set down before them. 

Blackwall had dug heartily into the array before them, chugging down a whole glass of fermented halla milk yogurt with pickled berries in a gulp. 

“I didn’t think there were any Templars left considering there aren’t many mages.”

“Tradition,” Cullen shrugged, shuffling a forkful of wilted greens into his mouth. “Not many uses for us except for Inquisition business. Still have some rogue mages out there.” 

“What does such a taxonomy involve?” Ellana replied, moving her food around her plate nervously. “Do you encounter many rogue mages?” 

Cullen shot her a grim look, his eyes narrow as though to say he considered _her_ a rogue mage. 

Fortunately, both were saved from any more awkward conversation when her phone rang in her pocket. Seeing the call was from Solas, she picked up without hesitation.

“Hello,” Solas’ low voice crackled softly when he greeted her, twisting towards sharpness as he continued before she could answer. “It is an understatement to say that the state of things in the clinic are complicated. I would welcome your help if you could spare the time.” 

“Of course, what is going on?” 

“I have _never_ seen anything akin to this before. It might be best for a full explanation until you arrive. Keeper Hawen is driving back to town to pick you up. Are you closeby?”

It was a little dramatic for Ellana to note, but it was the longest the two had been separated from one another for weeks. 

“I’m there. Here, in town, that is.” 

“He’ll be there in a few minutes. Please make sure to eat if you haven’t already.”

“Yes, I’m--” Ellana stammered in response as a clicking noise abruptly echoed in her ear. Holding the phone away from her ear, she flashed Blackwall, a perplexed look. _Did he really hang up on me?_

“He’s always been that dramatic when he’s absorbed in something,” Blackwall chortled gruffly, seeing her confused face. “At least in all the years, I’ve worked with him..”

“Never would have guessed,” Ellana sniffed sarcastically, taking one last sip of her hot tea. She had no idea what to expect, and it unnerved her as much as it excited her. Glancing outside into the bright light, part of her was surprised not to see a cloud of green smoke or another calamity like that night the Pride demon had appeared on her street. 

It was easy to determine when Keeper Hawen arrived as his bright silver vehicle was the only car on the street beside the parked car that Blackwall and Cullen had driven over in that morning. She stepped into the street with a small wave, the screeching of tires lulling her out of the last dwindling haze of her buzz. Crawling into the front seat, she buckled her seat belt.

The black inquisition SUV followed behind them, an odd caravan that attracted a few nosey elders to come out and stare as they drove past. 

For the first few minutes, the only sound in the car was a news show on the radio, a panel discussion regarding Elven voting rights. Amidst the panelists, Ellana recognized the distinctive screams of Empress Celine’s Chief of Staff, Briala, overpowering the other debaters. 

“That’s a mess I want no part in,” Keeper Hawen interrupted with a nervous chuckle. “All of the options are crooked if they get mixed up in human politics.” 

“Val Royeaux is a strange place,” Ellana responded casually, looking out the window. Further out of town, she saw stray houses peeking out amongst the white hills. Smoke from several chimneys drifted off into the cold air. _So this is where everyone on the reservation actually lives._

“You don’t say, lethallan.” There was a kindness to his voice that Ellana appreciated. It was grounding, so unlike her own Keeper, who ruled with fire rather than patience. “Your arrival here was fortunate. So would be the Way.” 

“I’m not sure I’d call it the Way,” Ellana muttered. Lately, she hadn't’t given much thought to her thoughts on the Elvhen pantheon--at least outside of writing a paper. An intense feeling flared in her chest, her hound palpating uncontrollably. A song in her head, like the one she heard near the library, hummed low on repeat. She bit her up to push it away. 

“What happened to--the patient?” She asked to change the subject. 

“We’re not sure. He’s a boy of fourteen named Valorian. Curious type. He was out by some ruins, wandered off without a word. His sister found him--but your doctor will tell you more.” 

“I wouldn’t call Solas _my_ doctor.”

Keeper Hawen shot her a dubious glance. The remaining drive is silent, Ellana’s hands fidgeting nervously with the fuzz of her winter coat, taking her sunglasses and placing them on the top of her head and back on again. Anything to keep the dreamy songs at bay. _A neurological trick._

The car came to an abrupt halt outside of a brick building with large glass windows. A sign outside marked the spot as the community clinic. 

“Head in; I’ll park,” Keeper Hawen said as Ellana searched his face for instructions. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she was face-to-face with Solas. It was the first time she had seen him dressed like a doctor, a yellow plastic poncho with sleeves pulled over his usual pressed white button-down shirt, along with a pair of thick plastic glasses. The outfit was more formal than scrubs. 

“Thank you for coming,” Solas breathed with relief. “I need to prepare you. The wounds are grisly--”

Ellana wanted to tell Solas about all the time she had spent in the library searching through Tevinter manuscripts to chase the filiation of late elven grimoires. One grisly manuscript she read had detailed diagrams illustrating how to dismember an elven body for blood rituals. Later, partially out of a grim curiosity, she’d studied the photography of Late Imperial elven slaves used for the same purposes. Each black and white shot crueler than the next.

A pile of branded skin haunted her for weeks after she tried to fall asleep. 

Art History was not a delicate field. Although many assumed otherwise. 

“Thank you; I’ll be fine.” 

Although she had expected some pushback from Solas, Ellana received none. A nod was his only response. 

“I must credit the Dalish, for many of the traditional remedies that Keeper Hawen have employed have stopped much of the infection and granted significant pain management.” 

Ellana couldn’t resist a smug expression crossing her face. Dalish medicine was rarely consulted, but in her own personal experience, highly effective. 

“Although, I find myself confused by one fact,” Solas spoke in a low voice, “The boy’s injuries are not, as I expected, the result of blood magic.” 

“Your meaning isn’t clear.” 

“His injuries aren’t typical of blood magic. Too shallow, nor is there any sign of bloodletting.” 

“Did Keeper Hawen not know about his magic--” 

“He’s not a mage.” 

“What? Did someone attack him--in the wilderness? Out here?” 

“An artifact judging by the injuries on his palms,” Solas said with a glint in his eye. “A very powerful one tied to the Fade given the pattern of the burn marks. Very hot, no blistering, as if parts of the body were torn from itself.” 

“Creators, that’s not possible.” Ellana gasped. “It couldn’t be--the orb?” 

A nervous fluttering sensation in her chest warned her not to get her hopes up. _Things were never that easy._ Besides, who knows what would happen if they found such a thing. Their current trip was only meant to collect information. 

“It would not be the first coincidence we’ve encountered in this journey.” Solas shrugged, his eyes lit up with excitement. “It might be easier to determine what we might encounter, however, if our patient were to wake up.” 

“Tell me what you need me to do.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so bad about author notes! I'm sorry! I really appreciate everyone still reading and all the comments/feedback. I've been working as much as possible to wrap this fic up. November is NaNoWriMo, so hopefully, I'll be able to finish it throughout the month.


	64. The One With Gross Medical Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW descriptions of injuries and trauma

**CHAPTER 64**

Solas instructed Ellana to scrub her hands until her skin was raw pink. Although magical treatments did not usually require germ theory, he adhered to the scientific norms as a precaution. When he directed Ellana to clean underneath her fingernails with a rough brush, she shot him an impatient glare that made him chuckle despite the seriousness of their surroundings. 

After helping Ellana tie up her hair in a surgical cap, Solas repeated the process of washing his hands for himself.

“Best medical practice,“ he said as he scrubbed, “is to review the procedure ahead before engaging directly with the patient.” 

It made Solas nervous to think about how little formal skill Ellana had in healing spells. He had to stay calm for both their sakes. He did not doubt that she would triumph, but all that was guiding his faith forward was a hunch, a wild gambol borne out of remote hypotheticals. 

“So you want me to--”

Ellana was pacing around the room, unable to sit still. Solas needed her to remain focused. Going through the steps would help her get there. 

“Confirm you know the procedure. What will we do first upon entering the room?” 

Solas used the calm voice he did with all of his students. Many of his colleagues were belligerent, going so far as to mock or throw tantrums if their students answered incorrectly on rounds or such. However, he found such habits to undermine the careful control that he thought necessary in a medical environment. 

“First, we will approach the patient, and you will remove the bandages on his torso and leg--” 

“You are aware of what a fourth-degree burn looks like?” Solas had summarized what to expect but wanted to have Ellana repeat it back to him to lessen the shock. “Especially once the infection sets in.” 

Truthfully, Solas wasn’t sure if they were looking at a burn. When he had examined Valorian’s wounds earlier, it was as if the skin had been pulled off, but with a utensil so hot that it had cauterized the layer underneath. 

“Black and terrible, charcoal rather than skin.” 

“And it is probable…?”

“That I will be sick or panic, having never seen anything similar before, especially once the patient's face is visible.” She recited his words back to him almost verbatim, “Do you really think--”

“ _Yes,_ and such a reaction is perfectly normal. We’ll go slowly. It is better to be cautious and strategic than make any irreversible decisions.” 

Solas had been an arrogant young man. Wealthy and brilliant, he had navigated school with ease. However, the first time he had seen true grievous bodily harm--the type that only catastrophic events caused--he had been brought to his knees throwing up in a wastebasket. The young woman on the stretcher had been in a car accident, the vehicle bursting into flame. It hadn’t been the burns that had killed her, but her organs shutting down one-by-one. Solas had sat by her for endless hours as her breathing gradually declined.

There hadn't been any next of kin to comfort her as she met a gruesome end. One he didn’t want, Valorin, the patient, in the other room to succumb to. 

It would only be a matter of hours if Ellana’s magic was unable to prevail. 

“You want me to summon a spell that thins the Fade _?”_

Solas nodded as he turned to face Ellana, allowing his hands to air dry. This would be the difficult part. A delicate configuration for even an experienced mage. He didn’t want her to realize this, however, lest it spooked her or made her freeze. 

“Correct, in a manner of speaking, opposite the one that you summoned in the alley.” 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever cast such a spell before.” 

“I’ll be able to help from the sidelines.” 

“I’m sure if I _try_ hard enough, right?” Ellana said, the tone of her voice pulled somewhere between a lament and a cheer, partially Solas thought to encourage herself. 

“Magic is willpower. When you believe you can, it will happen.” 

“Alright,” Ellana sighed, “let’s do this.” 

Solas pushed the door open with his elbows and began to walk down the end of the hallway. The clanking of Ellana’s boots echoing out behind him. Her mana was diffused, static charges bouncing off the walls, settling when they reached their destination. 

The clinic was clean and bright. All of the clan had their medical and dentistry needs met in the few rooms, no larger than a small doctor’s practice in the city. Valorin was stationed in the biggest room, with the shades drawn shut. A heart monitor--capable but old--beeped relentlessly in the background. The steady hum of oxygen pulsated in the background like a drum line. 

Solas paused in the threshold, pointedly glancing at a chair for Ellana placed next to the bed. 

“Are you ready?” He asked her when she had settled firmly into the chair. 

“Yes,” Ellana replied. If she was hesitant, she hid it well. 

Solas was unsurprised to hear her gasp when he pulled back the first layer of bandages from the patient’s torso. Black skin crackled with bits of white bone poking out, particularly around the shoulder blade. Whatever Valorian had encountered, it had cauterized his skin in a matter of seconds, tearing off whole chunks of muscle, leaving uneven pits of weeping gashes. Red angry blisters had formed in some areas, which looked like bubble wrap full of serum. 

“We are going to do this patchwork style,” Solas announced. “Healing small areas, starting with the most vital, and then work outwards. I’ve already healed the minor burns on his hands and face. The others were unresponsive.” 

“Minor?” Ellana choked. Her face had paled a bit in the dim light. Her hands held carefully up so as not to touch anything. Her fingers twitched almost as in rebellion to the rest of her perfectly still body. 

“Count to ten, Ellana,” Solas softly demanded, putting his body between her view of Valorin. 

“Is he in pain?” Ellana’s voice grew low after her breathing had steadied. “Surviving this shouldn’t be possible.” 

“No, most of the nerve endings have melted away. That and whatever distillation Keeper Hawen brewed for him--”

“Elfroot and witherstalk.” Ellana finished the sentence. “The unusual combination would heal the body while forcing the mind away to linger between the waking world and the Fade.”

“Yes, it has put him in a coma.” 

“That’s a relief.” Ellana sighed again. “I suppose we should start.” 

\----

Ellana hadn’t expected the wave of nausea to wreck her body. She had trouble comprehending the subject in front of her. Somewhere between life or death, Valorin was a mess of bandages. The thick smell of salve only furthered her unease. 

All of the tonics, potions, and recipes she had learned training to take over as her clan’s Keeper were racing through her mind. For years, she had kept the guilt of leaving at bay. Had similar harm come to her tribe? If so, was she at fault? 

It wasn’t the time for Ellana to address those feelings. She needed to concentrate. Valorin had been found in this miserable state with seemingly no explanation. His family was nearby in one of the waiting rooms, depending on her ability to summon the right spell. Occasionally she could make out the sound of wailing in the distance—the words alternated between begging and prayer. 

Solas had drawn back the coverings along the ribs to start. Ellana could have counted each bone if she had wished, too, the remaining skin a crispy membrane. 

She would start there to attempt to cast the spell requested of her. 

On her first attempt, the mana sputtered—a flash of green on her fingertips that was snuffed out almost instantaneously. 

“Here,” Solas said, taking her hands in his palms up. “Concentrate on the center of your hand. This spell doesn’t have to be strong, just stable. 

Ellana nodded, carried away by the reassuring baritone of Solas’ gentle cadence. 

“What did you picture last time? In the alley?” His hands tightened around hers. 

“I thought of a time I lingered too far at the bottom of a lake. The way it felt when I could barely breathe.” 

“Ah! It is a liminal spell. Try to recall the same thing, only perhaps rising from the water.” 

Ellana closed her eyes, picturing the placid lake again. It didn’t take her long to remember the moment she hit her feet against the murky bottom, propelling her upwards to savor a deep inhale. Her head was buzzing. 

The first wave that surged to her fingers was unexpected. Painful and blazing as if her blood was being pushed apart atom by atom. 

“Good,” Solas said, his hands radiating magic that quelled the pain that threatened to make her tremble again. Pulling her up, Solas moved carefully over towards the bed. The distance which had separated Ellana from carefully inspecting Valorin’s wounds eclipsed until all she could stare at was the field of ash that was his body until it resembled nothing but an abstract field. 

_Like a painting,_ Ellana told herself as she felt the panic set in again, _like a thick application of oil paint._

It felt as though her body was being emptied all at once the moment Solas passed their hands over the wounds. It happened quickly, but upon contact, the blisters burst, and then whole stretches of peach skin knit together, looking new and unblemished. 

For a time, Ellana could barely keep up as Solas would pause to carefully remove a swath of bandages, and the two would wave magic over a section and then another. She suspected the pace was enough to keep her fatigue at bay. However, she didn’t want to ask as they healed Valorin’s shoulder and then down over his back down his thigh. Another pass resulted in more wounds along the other side of his torso. 

Ellana bit back another wave of nausea when Solas drew back the final wrappings on Valorian’s face. Where there should have been a nose was only a pit. An angry socket was all that was left of his ear, his face like molten glaze floating on hot glass. 

“Will this heal--” Ellana stopped. “How was his face hit?” 

“He was running away from the blast, but looked back towards the light is my guess,” Solas replied. “A hard impulse to suppress. To answer your first question, If our previous work is any indication--” 

Valorian began to move in his bed, his fingers, his arms palpitating the freshly reconstructed muscle. A exhale turned into a groan. 

“A good sign,” Solas reassured Ellana, who moved back a few inches. “Here, let me move the mask.” 

Pausing, Solas carefully slid the oxygen mask off, careful not to let the strings of fluid that came with the elastic to tear off the thin membranes that had formed off which he termed “as delicate as a flower petal.” 

Ellana faltered for a moment and then raised her hands once more. The spell was easier to cast than it had been moments prior, a rush that made her head roar. Every time she brought the magic forth, it grew easier. It no longer felt like a phantom inhabiting an unclear space within her. No, it was part of her. An apotheosis of her every desire. 

She wasn’t sure what to make of things when Valorin was whole in front of her. Guided to sit back down by Solas, who tenderly smoothed the hair out of her sweaty brow, she gave in to a dreamless sleep. The light touch of his fingers was the last concrete sensation she felt until the dark took over her tired brain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the googles I did for this chapter were p. unpleasant. do not recommend.


	65. The One Where Solas Contemplates the State of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and his lies

**CHAPTER 65**

Solas had pushed Ellana past what would be considered an acceptable level of magic for a novice. Yet, she had surprised him with her resolve and capabilities. A month ago, she would have collapsed on the first cast. Instead, she had persisted in healing injuries that should have been fatal with a wave of her hands. The amount that her abilities had improved in such a short amount of time was startling.

Solas was perhaps one of the strongest mages walking Thedas. Certainly, in the medical profession. Ellana made Solas look weak. 

He had posited that the wounds that Valorin had endured were borne from the Fade. Almost as if he had touched it. 

Solas should have been able to start the healing process, but when he attempted to use his strongest healing spells on the wound, it remained unresponsive. Looking closely at the edges of the burnt skin, Solas had guessed--apparently correctly--that if Ellana was able to reach into the Fade, she could undo the damage by pulling what the other world had taken. 

It was like filling in the words to a crossword puzzle. 

Solas' head raced with questions. Was it possible, for instance, that the Fade transected the waking world? Ellana was evidence of that. 

Things would become clearer when Valorin woke. It would still be a few hours, yet as the drugs that permeated his system wore off. He had opened his eyes briefly and then turned over to sleep with a sigh. His sister, a quiet woman by the name of Emalien had fallen on her knees next to the bed looking at Valorin’s pink face with awe, the pit of his nose whole again, his eyes capable of sight. 

“A miracle,” Keeper Hawen had breathed in awe as Solas guided a drowsy Ellana towards the car. She was more alert than expected, a quilt wrapped around her shaking shoulders. By the time the car was in gear, she had fallen asleep again; her head had curled up on his lap, a hand clutching Solas’s knee as Blackwall slowly navigated the SUV through the dark wilderness back to the main stretch of town. 

And yet amidst all this joy, Solas should have been happy. After all, they had saved a life today.

Instead, he found himself filled with sorrow. Slipping back into the world, he found himself divided again between the life he wanted and the life he lived. 

Lying, after all, had been a survival skill Solas had relied on for most of his life. He was good at it, bending the truth just enough to be plausible--or simply omitting the whole story. 

“An accidental fire with some significant burns,” was the first half-truth Solas told a curious Blackwall in the car.

“It can be hard for mages untrained in medicine to treat patients. She’ll be awake in a few hours.” was the second when Cullen asked why Ellana was passed out. “No other option out here.” 

As the evening progressed, Solas was aware of how easy it was for him to lie. The justifications began to race through his head. Nor, was it, he consoled himself outright deception. After all, it was easy to make ethical concessions for the greater good. If he had not asked Ellana to heal Valorin, he would be dead. 

Was it the same with the foci? If together he and Ellana were able to unwind its mystery, then he could retire from consulting. He would be free from his history. No longer tied to a lineage of zealots. _Free to pursue a life with Ellana._

What was a falsehood or two?

“Solas?” Ellana called to him in the dim light of the hotel room. Sitting up in bed, she was surveying the room, looking for anything familiar. Her eyes were glassy and confused. She fell back with a sigh into the thick bedding. Her breathing slow and careful. 

“Yes?” Solas said, coming to collapse next to her. Her fingers began to play with the stitching of the breast pocket on his button-down shirt. 

“Why did you have me thin the Veil? Isn’t that dangerous?” 

Solas paused. He thought to confess the whole of what Ellana was capable of and how her magic might fit into the larger whole of finding the orb--if not, unlock its powers. The impulse lingered like a dust storm with no center until he pushed it away into the silence of the hotel room. 

“I thought it would strengthen my spell. It was dangerous--I’m sorry, I should have been more forthright.” 

“No,” Ellana shook her head, her eyes mirthful as she became more awake, “I’m glad we could save that boy. No one deserves to be in that kind of pain.” 

“No--” Solas agreed, nudging Ellana to turn to her side so he could wrap his arms around her more firmly. The smell of her perfume wafted in the air. 

Turning over to look him directly in the eyes, Solas expected her to ask more about what had happened, if not poke holes in all of his explanation. Instead, it gutted him to see the expression of total trust on her face, her eyes gentle as she smiled back at him. 

“Do you want to join me for a shower?” She hummed, “A long hot one. I’m so cold.” 

“Please,” Solas said with as much glee as he dared to manifest, watching with guilt as Ellana stood up and walked towards the bathroom, dropping her clothes into an untidy pile on the floor to follow.

  
  
  



	66. The One Where Valorian Speaks & The Voyage Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dalish Politics

**CHAPTER 66**

Sitting in Valorian’s recovery room, Ellana marveled at the boy’s face. Ruddy cheeks, once melted away, were whole and dusted with freckles. It was hard for her to comprehend that her own magic had contributed to his revival--let alone brought life to a pile of ash and dust. 

At first, when Valorian spoke, Ellana could barely follow along, staring with disbelief as his chest rose without complication. Although he was fine to leave, Hawen had insisted the boy rest in the clinic for another few days, if anything--as he explained with some exasperation in the car--for the teenager to reflect on the consequences of his actions. 

Or at least, that’s what he told Solas and Ellana as he drove them over early in the morning to learn more. 

The introduction, Ellana thought, was entertaining. As Valorian had gaped at them after learning that a city elf, and his Dalish girlfriend, were responsible for saving his life. That, and he had never traveled off the reservation before. 

She was reminded, a bit, of herself at that age. 

“What’s it like living in Val Royeaux?” Valorian had burst out with awe the moment that Ellana and Solas had politely greeted him. “Do you go out every night?” 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Solas chuckled. After answering a potpourri of questions about what sort of places they lived and several more about how the train system worked, Valorian was aggressively hushed by his sister, Emalien, who stood watch next to his bed, with a firm, but playful, slap on the back of the head. 

“I’m sure,” Ellana offered with a coy smile, “We can send you a few books--on the train system, if you like.” 

“What!” Valorian shouted. “I want--”

Another smack echoed out in the room. This time harder and more deliberate.

“First,” Solas said, his voice calm but taut with amusement,”You might explain what injured you. If anything, to keep such a thing from happening again.” 

“ _Da’len,_ you need to be serious,” Keeper Hawen’s stern voice emphasized, “You are lucky to be alive. What on earth possessed you to go off by yourself alone like that?” 

“I wanted to find Lindiranae’s talisman.” 

“Creators!” Hawen said at a shout before regaining composure. “I’ve told you younglings multiple times, if such a thing-existed it’s long gone, lost or stolen.” 

“Lindiranae?” Solas looked at Ellana with some confusion. 

“A legendary female warrior who fought during the Exalted March, when she fell the Dales was conquered by the humans.” 

Ellana had forgotten that only the Dalish told such tales. 

“Who knows,” Hawen irreverently groused. “Who cares? A story thousands of years made and remade with no real source other than the whim of storytellers long dead.” 

“I’ve heard of the blade,” Ellana continued with a contemplative expression. “Only, I’ve never heard of a talisman.” 

“A story,” Emmelin flopped into one of the chairs, tsking. “Told by the older kids to try and get the young ones into danger. A long-standing dare in this clan. Valorian, you should have known not to do such a stupid thing! _Fenedhis!”_

Ellana knew the consequences had been dire but couldn’t help but repress a smile. In her clan, she had been viewed as a trouble maker. She couldn’t fault Valorian for his explorative spirit. 

“Well, I thought that if I went through--” Valorian paused, suddenly nervous “--the grotto, I might find a clue.”

“The grotto?” Ellana asked. “Was there a protective spell, perhaps? A ward or--”

“I don’t know if I can tell you.” Valorian gulped nervously, looking down at his hands. “About the grotto.” 

“These doctors saved your life. I think we owe them some explanation,” Hawen nodded gruffly. “Tell us what you saw. I know I’d like to understand what led you to break into our clan’s most sacred space, despite clear rules against doing so.” 

“Sacred?” Ellana interrupted. “Var Bellanaris?” 

Ellana felt the room become silent and tense as Hawen and Emmalin stared at her in disbelief. A sensation teased at the corners of her senses, close to deja vu. 

“I’m an art historian, actually,” Ellana announced slowly by way of explanation, “not a medical doctor; a few years ago, I wrote a book on ancient elven ruins--” 

Ellana had some cursory knowledge of Var Bellanaris through her academic work. The site was a burial ground for the Dalish tribes. Before the clans had been subjugated to the reservation, over a thousand years ago, many clans would travel hundreds of miles to bury honored members there. 

“So you know of the place?” Hawen asked. 

“Not much,” Ellana admitted. “A few passages from obscure books and some information from my Keeper.” 

Research on the subject, if she recalled correctly, was fragmentary. The images that flashed through her mind were a few faded black and white photographs of scattered gravemarkers and mounds around ancient trees. 

“I--” Solas breathed and then closed his lips tightly as if thinking better of asking the question. 

“It's a burial ground,” Ellana explained softly, realizing that he wouldn’t have any context. “Thousands of years old, dating back to the fall of Arlathan.” 

Hawen confirmed with another gruff nod of his head before turning again to stare at Valorian. “What did you see, _da’len?”_

“Some of the grave coverings had been upturned, and I fell into one, and there was a skeleton, it still had some loose hair attached to the skull and tattered clothing. There was something shiny in its mouth so, I--”

Valorian looked down in shame, his head darkening. 

“The harm is done, _da’len,_ ” Hawen encouraged him. “Go on.”

“It was a key.” Valorian admitted quickly, “In his mouth.” 

“A key?” Ellana asked curiously, “What sort of key?” 

“Large, made out of gold.” Valorian shrugged. “I thought it might fit into the door to the grotto. So I took it.”

Before Ellana could ask what the grotto was, Emalien dramatically cried out, “You robbed a grave of the ancestors! Creators, who knows what trouble you’ve brought upon us all.” 

“I think Valorian has suffered enough for the lot of us,” Hawen quietly suggested, his eyebrow arching in warning, “We must learn what happened, Emalien, _da’len._ ”

“I-I walked to the door,” Valorian paused to wince before finishing the sentence. “And the key worked.” 

“You opened the door to the grotto?” Hawen asked incredulously, putting a hand to his temple. “Why did you open the door? Wait, don’t answer that.” 

“What did you come across?” Solas asked, his voice low with excitement, “certain colors, smells? Any spirits?” 

“There was a barrier, but I walked through it.” Valorian stumbled. “The other side was green.” 

“Flashing Light? A low humming sound?” Ellana offered. 

“No, green grass. I walked in it a bit. It was warm. There were flowers and some broken up rocks. I saw some gold walls but didn't walk towards them." 

“Were there any decorations on the walls?” Ellana asked, “Or inscriptions?” 

Valorian shook his head. “Just gold. Vines, lots of them.” 

“Then how did you get hurt? The door wasn’t open when we found you.” 

“I don’t remember,” Valorian said, his lower lip trembling. “One moment, I was in the grotto, and then next I was in pain.” 

\---

The walk to Var Bellanaris took up the remainder of the morning. Hawen had parked his large vehicle on the side of a field of snow, nodding north. Ellana and Solas followed his trail of footsteps. Occasionally a strong wind would erupt, and the sound of dust or snow particles pushing against one another echoed out in the flat plains. 

Solas had to pull his scarf tightly around his face. It was thick, wool. He had purchased it for a long hike in the Frostback mountains a year or two past. That trip had been cold--or so he had thought until today.

He was relieved that Hawen had lent Ellana a water-resistant winter coat to wear on the voyage. A hand me down from his youngest daughter--who was currently studying at university--stuffed with goose down. 

Solas had expected Ellana to protest. Instead, he was amazed when she had taken the jacket, politely nodding at the Keeper and thanking him for his thoughtfulness. The gloves, however, remained unworn in her pocket. 

“You asked about the winery logo?” Hawen panted as they approached a grove of trees. “We took it from Var Bellanaris.” 

“What do you mean?” Ellana asked, her voice ringing like a bell in the barren plain. 

“The door that Valorian spoke of. It opens up to a place called Unadin Grotto. On the front are etchings. This is where my father took the idea from.” 

Ellana was about to speak again before Hawen interrupted. Solas was impressed that the Keeper didn’t even have to look in her direction to know she was going to ask another pointed question. “No, before you ask, I don’t know of any story of anyone opening the door.” 

“So the green meadows in the middle of winter that Valorian spoke of?” Solas pondered out loud. He was still having a hard time piecing together his theory of what Valorian might have encountered. Each solution he came up with was more preposterous than the next. 

“Entirely possible. Do you have any ideas?” Solas was about to answer when he realized that Hawen was addressing Ellana. “You said you wrote about ancient ruins. There isn’t anything, as you probably know, more ancient than Var Bellanaris.” 

For a few moments, all that could be heard was the crunch of snow underfoot. 

“My knowledge from my academic work,” Ellana began, “Is relegated to a few paragraphs, mostly on Dalish burial traditions. The majority of the ruins I studied first-hand were in Tevinter.” 

Solas noted that Ellana missed the curious look that Hawen shot her when she mentioned Tevinter. 

“My Keeper, however, told me the graveyard marks where Arlathan fell from the sky That burying the dead there was a way for the People to reclaim part of the land they now found themselves in.” 

Ellana stopped walking, her eyes looking forwards towards the distant treeline. 

“Do you think it is?” Ellana asked. “Where Arlathan fell?” 

Hawen shrugged. “I don’t know if anyone knows that. Or could. There’s strange magic there. I never was one to really tempt it. My da did once took a finger. Wouldn’t tell me how it happened.” 

Solas paused. He had adventured to some of the most hidden corners of Thedas, particularly in his early adulthood. He had, however, heard of nothing as strange as what they were about to encounter.

“Does no one come to see Var Bellanaris?”

“Who would come?” Ellana asked, her head tilting a bit. 

“Academics--”

“It’s a Heritage Site,” Hawen explained. “Can’t study it without permission from the government. Most of the reservation's actually is a heritage site. That’s why you have to maximize the crop. Build sustainable farming in concentrated areas.” 

“So most of the land the government grants you?”

“Completely useless and full of ruins. The ones that the Orlesians don’t find value in. Some of the Dalish clans like that,” Hawen said factually. “Only in Orlais, if you want the land to be categorized as a Heritage Site, and keep the clan in charge, you can’t use those areas to generate tourist income.” 

Solas could barely fathom what he was hearing. He knew that the Dalish were a long-oppressed people--but hadn’t fully comprehended the extant.

“What about other Dalish?” 

“Most don’t have the paperwork to leave their reservation,” Ellana reminded him. “You’re jailed or fined if you travel outside the boundaries of Orlais. Only that makes it difficult to get the right visa." 

"Some of the other Orlesian clans visit--but most of the reservations are in Fereldan and outside Kirkwall--" 

“Your daughter at University?” Solas asked Hawen. 

“My wife was from Emprise du Lion. Came to live with us as part of a sociology project she was doing in graduate school. Met me.” Hawen said, “I’ve never been outside Orlais, however, would never get a passport with a Dalish birth certificate.”

“Not once?” Solas asked, looking at the deep wrinkles in the man’s face. He had to be pushing seventy, at least. It seemed like a long time to be confined to a single country--especially one that hadn't welcomed the Dalish to Val Royeaux until the last few decades. 

“No, not once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my headcanon, they are all speaking in Elvhen, but I think that makes for an awkward read to translate it all.


	67. The One Where Ellana Admires Tumuli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumuli Tumuli Tumili

**CHAPTER 67**

The moment she crossed the threshold into Var Bellanaris, Ellana felt awe. In her wildest academic dreams, she had never thought she’d ever have access to such a place. At least not without a larger publishing record. Crumbling walls meandered in unexpected curves around birch trees. Large tumuli, or mounds where the ancestors were buried, dotted the snowy landscape. 

She had visited similar mounds before; only those were mostly shells of how the elves had left them, raided by _shemlin_ hands for the gold and ironbark artifacts the ancestors had dressed their dead with. Ellana expected that below the surface lay treasures she could barely imagine--the kind that her historian sensibilities dreamed about as she wrote page after page of dry analysis. 

She hoped that she might return when the landscape was more visible. It had begun to snow again. Light and airy, unlike the deluge of the previous days. 

Ellana had to struggle to move forward as the snow piled up past her knees. She was relieved when Solas took her hand and helped guide her forward through a particularly treacherous stretch of what Hawen had identified as the road. 

Finding her skin bare, he chuckled, squeezing her hands more tightly in his mittens while pulling her up over a fallen log covered in ice.

“You hate the cold, yet refuse to wear gloves?” He had teased her at a whisper once her feet were firmly on the ground. 

“I never claimed to be a wholly rational person.” She shot fiercely back. The heated look Solas gave her in return made Ellana want to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Remembering they were in one of the holiest spots, however, made her pause. 

That would be blasphemy after all. 

Ellana felt wonder examining the landscape. Var Bellanaris was unlike anything she had ever encountered. Wandering around a site so ancient and untouched by outside hands humbled her. 

Her dissertation, later her book _Fade Objects,_ had addressed the later periods of elven architecture, near to when humans had first begun to conquer the ancient heritage sites. The ruins available to her in Tevinter were a blend of humans and elven norms. Her scholarship had been to pull back the layers of time, identifying what was and wasn’t elven. 

Although the graveyard's outer rings were hundreds--if not thousands--of years old, there was a sense of newness that made the inner areas appear dilapidated. The mounds, as they walked forward, grew smaller, worn away by time. Occasionally the outline of a flat slab of rock, the top of a gravesite, could be made out on top of a tumulus, the slant causing the snow to slough off as it fell. Ancient walls with ornate archways transected the grounds, broken up by tree roots and vines twisted over ancient stone edges. 

_“One tree for each dead,_ ” Ellana’s Keeper used to rhyme at her, _“To give the body back to nature again.”_

Ellana stopped and bent down to look at the top of one of the gravestone slabs. Reaching out a hand she tentatively traced out the smooth bumps of where carvings had once been etched into the soft white stone. Peering down, she thought she might make out the rough shapes of glyphs or other writing. Whatever message they carried was lost lifetimes ago. 

“I didn’t mean to sound so gruff earlier. Taking care of this place for our ancestors is a privilege.” She heard Hawen say softly behind her. “I find the Dalish birthright to be a hard burden when you have mouths to feed and educate.” 

“I understand,” Ellana said, standing up. “I feel like I’m always torn in two directions caused by never knowing where my home is or where I belong. Now, I’m the most exotic, after all, on my own reservation.” 

Hawen openly laughed at Ellana’s brazen comment. A reaction she appreciated as her own Keeper would have chided her. 

“None of the _shem_ in Orlais want to come here. Too many stories about ghosts and elven curses. Occasionally we bury a few of ours on the grounds in the old way, or another Dalish who can get the paperwork, never felt any sign of magic until a few days ago.”

Ellana noticed that Hawen glanced over at Solas’ who was absorbed in his inspection of a large reclining wolf statue, looking closely at carvings along the podium base made to resemble a field of abstract prairie grasses. 

“Valorian’s wounds were definitely magic,” Ellana sighed, turning to look straight into the Keeper’s face. The _vallaslin_ branches on his forehead twisted with worry. 

“The place where we found him was ringing with magic. I hadn’t felt anything that strong since I was a boy.” 

“What is the grotto?” Ellana asked abruptly. She thought she might have better luck for a more succinct answer Dalish-to-Dalish. “An old tomb--?” 

“It’s hard to tell,” Hawen observed. “It’s at the center, so I’ve only gone a few times. My Da--he was the tribe's Keeper before me--had a fascination with it, but I’ve always been more interested in modernizing the reservation. You’ll probably know more about it than I do when you see it.” 

“There wasn’t an artifact nearby when you found Valorian?” 

Hawen shook his head. “We searched for hours. I didn’t look at the graves. Some of them open up from time-to-time. We close them up when we have the time in summer.” 

“Tomb raiders?” Ellana asked with a sigh. She knew first-hand from her work in the Minrathous museum of art that there was a black market for elven goods, especially in Tevinter, where such artifacts were viewed as imbued with strong magic. 

“No, something more boring. Time,” Hawen said with a small laugh. “Like I said, no one comes to Var Bellanaris anymore.” 

Ellana was about to turn and walk forward when she heard the Keeper’s voice go low. She realized it was the first conversation the two had alone since her arrival. 

“ _Da’len_ , I have to ask, why did you come here?” 

Ellana’s heart raced. She had been so occupied by trying to figure out how Valorian had come to be harmed that she had almost forgotten the mission at hand. She thought to come up with a cover-up, finding the truth to be the best approach. _She usually did._

“We are searching for an artifact. It’s dangerous. If it is here, it should be secured--if not destroyed.” 

“Solas is certainly a man to respect, but his accent is Arlathan. Are you sure you can trust him? Where do you fit into this all, child?” 

It was a question Ellana had never considered before. She assumed that finding the orb was mutually beneficial. Locating it would free Solas and take her out of harm’s way. If anything, figuring out the puzzle would bring her satisfaction--if not another book. 

Ellana gazed back towards Solas, who was still intently studying the wolf statue, writing down a few notes in a leather-bound notebook he always carried with him in a pocket. His face was placid, eyes darting back and forth as he scratched away at the surface of the page. 

“I can. We’re in this together.” 

“Alright, I'll trust your gut on this ” Hawen said with a faint sign on her lips, “Let’s go to Unadin Grotto.” 

\---

The door in front of Solas was at least three times taller than him and equally wide. Carved out of what looked like a single sheet of rock whose hue alternated between purple and black in the sun. In four quadrants, Solas could outline different animals: a hawk, a halla, a dragon, and a hare around the sun at the center. Unlike the gravestone slabs, the chiseling marks were crisp and pronounced as the day the artist had chiseled into the surface. 

Was it possible that the orb lay behind the door? Surely, if it were as easy as finding the right key, the Evanurius would have already done so. 

“Volcanic porphyry,” Ellana announced. “One of the hardest and rarest known materials in the ancient world. The elves thought it embodied a tabula rasa of sorts--unable to be influenced by any of the known elements--even entropy.” 

“It's not like the other stone in the Plains,” Hawen observed, crossing his arms in deep thought as if looking at the door for the first time. 

“There is only one known mine in Thedas, near the Hissing Wastes,” Ellana responded with a knowing smirk. “It would have had to have been pulled for several thousand kilometers to be placed here.” 

“How--”

“Magic,” Ellana suggested knowingly. “No other way. A team of dedicated craftsmen could have carried fragments and piece them together. This, however, is whole, except for the keyhole.” 

"And the iconography?" Solas asked. He had played over the rhyme in his head on repeat since they had arrived at the reservation. Several internet searches later, he had some background information on how the ancients had viewed animals embodying certain traits as intermediaries between the present world and the afterlife. 

“The earth and fire elements would have been symbolized by the hare and the dragon, respectively. The hawk could be wind? But the halla--I don’t know.” 

“You forget your star chart, _da’len.”_ Hawen interrupted with a smirk. “Those are constellations, not elements.” 

“Yes,” Ellan marveled. “Directions? But to what?” Solas watched her pace back and forth a few times before she reached out a hand to trace the orb of the sun. Judging by Hawen’s face, he already knew the answer but was waiting for her to come up with her own answer. 

“The material of the door, the keyhole at the center--of a perfect circle,” Ellana muttered to herself before making a sharp whistle. “This is the place where the elements converge into one, the start of the universe, and also the end.” 

“Var Bellanaris, our eternity,” Hawen nodded. “The place where the world aligns itself into perfect order.” 

“Surely, a metaphor?” Ellana said, looking up at Hawen, who shrugged. 

“Should we find the key Valorian referenced?” Solas asked to survey the surrounding area. The grotto's door was at the top of a narrow staircase that surrounded a large tumulus with bricks placed in undulating waves around the circumference. Stepping closer to the wall, he noted the faint traces of ochre paint that once had decorated the surface with delicate geometric shapes. 

Even if Valorian had dropped the key, it wouldn’t have gone far. 

Ellana paused, looking at Hawen for permission. 

“Well, if we don’t open the door, we won’t know what injured Valorian, will we?” The Keeper said. “Hard to walk away, not knowing.” 

“Do you feel that?” Ellana turned to Solas with an expectant look on her face.

“Yes,” Solas said, closing his eyes. Magic sloshed around his senses, pulling at him. “I sense a magical artifact nearby.” 

“Same, can’t place it,” Hawen said, pointing to the bottom of the stairs towards a group of ragged looking bushes. “We found Valorian at the bottom, must have rolled down the stairs.” 

“It's here,” Ellana proclaimed, skipping down towards the ground.

Solas tried not to wince as Ellana’s bare hands picked through the blanket of snow on the ground. By the time she had finished, a gold object in her ruddy hands flashed in the noon light, What would they find on the other side of the door?

Solas didn't know what outcome to hope for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write chapters in this arc where Solas and Ellana both got to show off a bit of their field of expertise.


	68. The One Where the Veil is Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana finally see what is behind the door.

**CHAPTER 68**

Ellana removed her borrowed coat and set it gently down on the ground near Unadin Grotto's entrance. As Valorian had reported, the door opened up to a lush paradise of greenery. Large plants, in a myriad of greens, yellows, and oranges, tumbled over one another like drunken dance partners. The air that wafted out was balmy—a welcome change from the nippy wind biting at her cheeks. 

What was Ellana looking at? Or, more accurately, where was she looking into? 

Carrying the key up the stairs in the palm of her hand, she certainly had not expected this. Then again, nothing about her life for the past sixth months had been believable. Not even the key that she had found. Fashioned out of innumerable gold threads twisting around each other in the shape of a halla antler, it appeared delicate, but the weight of its magic was powerful. 

Her mind was filled with the image of countless artifacts spanning the epochs of Elvhen making. The object she dutifully carried matched none of them. 

“Valorian must have found something inside this chamber--” Solas observed. 

“My gut tells me I should stay here.” Hawen groaned, perching like an old bird on a fallen rock to the side of the door. “I’ll be down here when you return.” 

“Are you certain?” Solas pressed. Ellana noted he was having a hard time suppressing his enthusiasm. 

Truthfully, even the memory of Valorian’s wounds did not make her hesitate to step forward into the tepid grotto.

Would the orb be on the other side? Ellana suspected it wouldn’t be, but the tidiness of the idea invigorated her. 

“Never been more certain,” Hawen answered gruffly. “My bones are old. I’d hold you up. Go.” 

Stepping forward, Ellana was momentarily blinded by the brightness. Shielding her eyes with her fingers, she looked upwards, expecting to see the sun finding only an inkling of where one might hang overhead. What masqueraded as a sky swirled like a hazy cloud with no beginning or end. 

“Are we in the Fade?” Solas marveled out loud, grabbing Ellana by her hand in his excitement. “Physically?” 

Before Ellana responded, the landscape shifted again. They found themselves in a dark chamber with a single beam of light falling across the floor between them, illuminating hammered gold walls placed in undulating patterns. 

“It looks like the library in Halamshiral,” Ellana announced in bewilderment, clasping Solas’ hand more firmly as the scenery dissolved again, the colors melting as a sound like a whip snapped in the back of her mind. 

“You're right. We are in the Fade,” Ellana agreed. The room that had materialized minutes before had shifted into the tropical landscape once more. Looking down at the ground, she was amused to see her heavy boots softly crushing a patch of grass. “It seems unstable.” 

Letting go of Solas’ hand Ellana spun in a circle. It felt different from being in the Fade awake than when she dreamed. There was a tangible quality to the environment, but Ellana found it somewhat suspect. She’d focus on a branch of one of the vines, only to find it wavering a bit in the air, not quite concrete, as if her mind had momentarily put it there. 

“It’s possible,” Solas began, “The Veil isn’t a fixed essence. At least, not what I understand, at least that is what science agrees. It fluctuates, uneven. I’ve been to a few spots where it was thin, but nothing like this.” 

“A little pocket of Fade,” Ellana pondered in astonishment. “Could the shifts in the Veil have burned Valorian?” 

“The injury pattern would suggest otherwise,” Solas gently responded. “A small object he would have picked up with his hands. However, he is not a mage. The variance in the Veil could have hurt him, especially if he was pushed outwards.” 

“Is it safe for us to be here?” Ellana asked him. It was one thing for her to venture through the space in her dreams, another thing entirely to bodily transgress through the space. 

Before Solas could answer her question, Ellana recognized the green light of a spirit floating by in the shape of an androgenous figure, shifting with each movement she likened to walking. 

“You’re a spirit of Wisdom,” Ellana said calmly, trying not to wince as the spirit sped by, the ectoplasm grazing her arm. It felt wet and sticky, followed by sudden dryness. “Can you tell us where we are?” 

The spirit paused. The imprint of a face flickered in the strange light. Ellana thought it looked to be smiling. 

“A mirror.” The spirit announced smugly. “for the Elvhenan.” 

“What might we find here?” Solas asked. Ellana noted that he redirected the question to be more open. 

“Nothing is quite like it used to be since the day the last of the vines folded. Those that remained entered the uthernara.” 

“The endless sleep?” Ellana translated the word out loud. “What is that?”

“You’re one of them. Shouldn’t you know?” 

“One of what?” Ellana snapped. She was finding it hard to be patient as the spirit spouted what she interpreted as nonsense. The fact that she still found it difficult not to be afraid made her words sour even more. 

“Is there anything here important you’d like to show us?” Solas interrupted. “What do you do here?” 

The spirit arched in a way that Ellana found to be cat-like, raising a hand and pointing a translucent finger towards the end of the grassy meadow towards an outcropping of large stone pillars, each fashioned out of a different color of stone. At the center was a spiral, drawn out in salt, connecting all the columns. 

Recalling the ritual she had observed in the Fade so many times before, Ellana realized she was looking at the result: an effort to put the cosmos into balance. 

“Water, Fire, Earth, Sky, Birth, Entropy, and Death, “ Ellana whispered to herself as she gazed at each individual pillar. The words had been so familiar to her for so long that she rarely paid any attention to them. Although the Elven pantheon was important to her studies, she was more interested in the artifacts and imagery than the dogma. 

“The place of eternity,” the spirit replied. “Where memories are made and kept. We worked together. Spirit, body, and mind. Now no one can remember.” 

“Solas,” Ellana gasped. “The ancestors, they physically walked through the Fade to make places like this.” 

“The door marked an entry point where the Fade is thin,” Solas hypothesized, “Linking the worlds together. Only for what purpose?” 

“The orb of destruction. Do you think it is there?” 

“It would be fortunate,” Solas replied absently. “Unlikely, perhaps.” 

“May we approach?” Ellana politely asked the spirit. 

“Yes!” The spirit cheered, its voice echoing out. Gliding forward, floating over the meadow, towards the spiral, it ululated in the empty field, a vibrating sound that evoked a sensation of deja vu for Ellana. 

“Will you stay with me?” The spirit asked the moment they entered the space. “I’ve waited so long for you.” 

“No, thank you for the invitation,” Ellana said, attempting to imitate Solas’ rhetoric, keeping her words warm and ambiguous. “We wouldn’t want to trouble you.” 

The spirit bristled a bit as she said the words. Clearly, she had not guessed what it wanted to hear correctly. Its eyes widened with realization. 

“You’re one of them. Shouldn’t you want to be here?” 

“Why do you think we should stay?” Solas asked, trading a curious glance with Ellana. For a moment, he appeared as if he was about to say something and then thought otherwise. 

“The boy touched that,” the spirit pointed again, ignoring Solas’ question, at the center of the salt circle. 

Ellana could see a large globe at the center. Made out of what appeared to be glass or another translucent material. The closer she got to it, the more powerful magic flooded her body. 

“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t talk to me. Said it wasn’t allowed. Am I allowed?”

“Yes,” Solas said, “The boy was young. He was frightened and didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. How did he get hurt?” 

“He couldn’t sing, so it burned. I carried him back out the door.” 

“What is this?” Ellana asked, sinking to her knees. In front of her, the globe looked like the one she had held in the Warehouse, only larger. It was iridescent with a cloudy center. Purple swirling on the glass gleamed like ink stains. 

She resisted, at first, but reached forward. A spark sizzled in the air towards her fingers. A low hum drew her to it, a melody she had long-forgotten. It wasn’t a song exactly, but a wave of sorts, of unrelenting mana drawing her forward. 

“Ellana,” Solas warned, “Wait--your hands.” 

It was too late. The moment her skin connected with the exterior, it glowed. Picking up the glowing orb, Ellana stared at it with wonder. It was as if pathways in her mind were open for the first time. The touch of the object in her hand was familiar, granting her new indescribable powers. _But to do what?_

It was as if a switch had been flipped. Her mana, usually diffused, was pulled together, as if the globe drew it to its core. She had never felt like this before. 

“Is this the foci?” Ellana breathed, her words strained as she wrestled with the power flooding her brain. She was desperate for it to be. 

“It’s not. Something like it, perhaps.” 

“How do you know?” 

“It’s not the right--” 

Solas’ words were cut off as the lush foliage around them began to flicker again. The hammered gold mosaic returned and then melted away just as quickly. 

“The door is closing,” the spirit cried. A wave of its hand caused the glass to fling out of Ellana’s hands and land once again in the center of the salt pictogram etched into the ground. 

A rumbling sound began at a low hum and then shifted into a roar. 

“I can feel it was caving in,” Solas yelled over the din. “We should leave.” 

Ellana looked down at the globe. She wanted to pick it up again and understand. The power was not alluring to her--but the knowledge was. Who knows what more she could learn if she could only touch the sphere again.

“You must either choose to stay or leave,” the spirit hovered near her whispered. “The door is to be shut.” 

Reluctantly she turned and ran. 

___

The door slammed shut the moment Solas and Ellana jumped through. In the Fade. the ground below them had shook and collapsed upon itself—the vegetation melted into one another like mud before turning into a void. Solas was glad to be free of it. The sun was still high in the sky as if no time had passed. He could barely register Hawen’s concerned face looking over them, attempting to cajole them back into their winter clothes. 

Sitting up, Solas let out an exasperated cry as the door reappeared. The purple sheen that had glowed a bit when they first approached settled into blackness. Standing, he went to pluck the key from its latch when he gasped when it vanished entirely. Standing to touch the door, he let out a small burst of magic, only to have it burn the tips of his fingers. 

“How did you know that wasn't the foci?” Ellana asked Solas at a low volume, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

Solas realized he’d have to give Ellana one more piece of the puzzle.

No matter how painful the aftermath would be. 

“Ellana,” Solas sighed, whispering low enough that only she could hear. “I’ve seen the Orb of Destruction.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little pocket of Fade is the "but it has pockets" dress of Thedas.


	69. The One Where Ellana and Solas Find Answers (Finally, for once).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff.

**CHAPTER 69**

Var Bellanaris had frozen Ellana’s core. She was curled up under the coverlet in the hotel room, attempting to regain warmth. The generous bed was large enough that she could lay sideways with both arms outstretched and still have ample space around the perimeter of the bed. 

Ellana pulled the blanket up around her head. She needed to concentrate. 

In her mind, she was replaying the events of the afternoon over again, like paging through memories like a book, trying to connect them with her scholarship background. Picturing the door in her mind, she could not place it with any other relic or ruin she had encountered. 

The sound of the door opening followed by the pattering of Solas’ distinctive stride towards the bed. Peeking out from under the covers, she grinned as Solas flopped down beside her in his sports coat. 

As soon as they had returned to the hotel, he had been pulled aside by Blackwall and Cullen, who were not amused by the two of them sneaking off without the extra protection. What would they tell Leliana? 

That had been an hour ago. 

“I am glad we have the opportunity to talk before I go have a drink with Keeper Hawen,” Solas said, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you have a minute?” 

“Do you want to climb in?” Ellana asked, raising the blanket up. 

“No, sorry. I don’t know if I have time. Although I might prefer to do so as I’m not sure the conversation ahead will be entirely pleasant.” 

“It’s funny,” Ellana with a cackle, “A city elf afraid of a scolding from a Dalish Keeper.” 

“Is your Keeper like Hawen?” 

“No, she’s a control freak. Zero patience.” 

“Hawen is understanding,” Solas agreed with a thoughtful nod. “I can’t pretend to understand why he asked for a drink. We explained what we could about Var Bellanaris. Do you have any theories?” 

“I think he’s going to try and convince you to offer medical assistance on an ongoing basis.” Ellana mused. “Or maybe he’s just sexist?” 

Solas chuckled, “He doesn’t strike me as sexist.” 

“No,” Ellana grinned. “Nevertheless, in my experience, most men tend not to find other men sexist.”

“That’s fair.” Solas gave Ellana a playful smile in response as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She admired the fine lines around his eyes crinkling as she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“In this instance, I don’t think Hawen is sexist,” Ellana admitted as Solas adjusted his arm so she could lay her head in the crook of his elbow. Her palm was flat on his chest. Despite his calm exterior, she could feel his heart racing. 

The two spent a few moments in companionable silence.

“Do you want to tell me when you saw the foci?” Ellana asked after she could feel his heart steady. Solas stiffened at the conversation as he moved to face her nose-to-nose. 

“I was going home for a holiday,” Solas said. Sorrow welled up in his voice. “My train was delayed. By the time--”

Ellana squeezed his arm as his words spilled out. 

“I found Mythal murdered. An ancient elven spell of death by a thousand magical cuts. No magic is strong enough to heal such an attack. She was clutching an orb. I wasn’t sure what it was at the time.”

“Oh, Solas,” Ellana cajoled, reaching up to gently trace his temple. His hand rose to grip hers, his eyes tightening as he replayed the memory over in his mind. Perhaps for the first time, Ellana could understand why Solas had gone to such extreme lengths to protect her from the situation. 

“Mythal died trying to hand me the orb, but the moment I went to reach for it--it _vanished_.” 

“ _Vanished?”_ Ellana couldn’t help repeating out loud in a gasp. It would have been hard for her to imagine such a scenario even a week ago, but the laws of physics seemed arbitrary considering how they had gone back and forth in the Fade a few hours ago simply by passing through a door. 

“There isn’t any empirical evidence for me to claim that was the orb of destruction. Only, I can’t help but wonder what else would have prompted her to be killed. The way the room felt too--I could barely think because it was as if the house. It was different from the magic we encountered today. Similar, but distinct.” 

Ellana held in a breath. The pain in Solas was evident. Heavy and overwhelming. 

“I’ve not told anyone that story but Leliana, and she forced it out of me with the threat of torture.” Solas exhaled, turning to stare once more at the ceiling. 

“I understand,” Ellana offered. “What it is like to lose someone you love in terrible circumstances.” 

“Yes.” A bittersweet chuckle escaped his lips. 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to bear this alone.” 

“Thank you,” Solas breathed, cupping Ellana’s face. “It means so much to tell you. I want this to work. I want to try and be open.” 

“I want that too,” Ellana said, realizing for the first time it was true. Her doubts from the past few days dissipated instantly. Had she and Solas really only been dating a few weeks? It felt like so much longer. 

A silence passed between them. Peaceful and considerate. 

“Do you want to find the orb?” Solas asked. His voice was light and casual, but Ellana sensed turbulence underneath. “This excursion was a way to test the waters, so to speak.” 

“I think we’ve crossed the rubicon as far as a choice goes,” Ellana acknowledged with a wry smile. “Admittedly, I want to find it, if anything to understand. Maybe there is another book at the end of it.” 

“I didn’t mean to bring you into this predicament.” Solas drew his hand up to his forehead with a sigh. “It was my mess." 

“Solas, you didn’t bring me into this. My magic--there isn’t any avoiding this, I think, for me.” 

Ellana thought it was as rational as one could be about the situation. She wasn’t a believer in fate, but she couldn’t help but think there had been too many coincidences for her to think it wasn’t part of her destiny. Although she had been hesitant to embrace her magic, Ellana found something uplifting in the idea that she could use it to solve such a mystery.

“You know what I’m glad about?” Ellana said with another grin that softened Solas’ hard expression. 

“ _Hmm.”_

 _“_ We are doing this together.” 

“It’s uncanny, isn’t it?” Solas agreed, tracing the edge of her lips with his thumb. “An art historian and a neurologist as the ones with the correct toolset united in a quest to save Thedas from a group of elven extremists.”

“Now that’s verbose.” Ellana rolled her eyes. “Although--”

“Yes?” 

“What do you think we saw in Var Bellanaris? I know what we told Keeper Hawen, only that wasn't the whole truth." 

Solas had given Hawen a cursory summary. It had included information on the artifact and the spirit they encountered. An ancient guardian who had protected Valorian when he had strayed too far. Hawen had found it reassuring to think that avoiding the cemetery would be enough for the younger generations to stay safe. 

“I have a few theories. Some more fantastical than others. My top being that the Fade and waking world were more interconnected. It might explain the decline in magic. The veil is stable, according to magical scholars, but something changed that’s made it harder for mages to overcome.” 

“It makes sense--the ancient elven obsession with balancing the cosmos. Perhaps the ritual I’ve observed in the Fade is rudimentary science to keep magic flowing between the two words. Could it be that easy?” 

“Sometimes, the simplest answers are the correct solutions.” 

“If there are still pockets like the one we encountered in Var Bellanaris--that could leave us to the orb.” 

“Finding elvhen ruins are your arena, I’m afraid. Although, I think I might be able to get you access to better databases if you are interested in finding more sites like it.”

“How?” 

“The Inquisition.” Solas laughed. “You’d be amazed at the things hidden away in their hidden safes and dark hallways.” 

“Do you remember the orb that was at the Warehouse? How Anora said, it would show up in unexpected places. It looked so much like the artifact we encountered today.”

“It would suggest that such devices were more common,” Solas postulated. “Or perhaps even necessary.” 

“I thought it was some divination tool. To manifest images or pictures of the future.” 

“Your magic,” Solas said with an excited gasp. “It reacted to you because you can bridge the Fade and the waking world. You’re the missing piece.” 

“What do you mean?” Ellana said with uncertainty. Her feelings of security evaporated. She didn’t like to think of herself as a chosen one in any regard. 

“I thought,” Solas began slowly, “Your magic might be indicative of some evolution of the brain to overcome the barrier of the Veil. Only, perhaps there were more dreamers in Ancient Arlathan.” 

“I didn’t think this day could get any heavier.” Ellana quipped sarcastically, resting her forehead against Solas, who pulled her in for a long, almost never-ending kiss. 

“As you said,” Solas whispered, pulling away for a bit of air. “We are in this together.” 

Ellana pressed her lips to Solas’ again, slipping a hand up underneath the hem of his shirt with renewed passion as he pulled her flush against him. Before their embrace could escalate any further, however, the obnoxious blare of Solas’ wristwatch alarm echoed out in the hotel room. Shooting her a sheepish look, Solas gave her one more abbreviated kiss. 

“I’ll return soon to reprise this conversation,” Solas announced, glancing down at his watch. “Among other things.”

“Ugh, hurry,” Ellana groaned. The space where Solas had laid in bed was suddenly cold where his body had been moments earlier. 

“Wish me luck--I know not if I am walking into a friendly conversation or some sort of patriarchal hazing ritual.” 

“I think you are being grim and fatalistic in the hopes of getting me into bed.”

“One, you are in bed. Two, I am grim and fatalistic.” Solas said, peppering Ellana’s face with kisses that caused her to playfully swat his arm playfully until he rose from the bed. smoothing down his shirt and sports coat. In a few moments, the creases disappeared. 

Ellana stared dreamily up at him, tightening the blankets around her. She didn't expect the months ahead to be easy. Only, things felt right for once. 

Terrorists and all. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think these two have a quiet sort of passion. tender and loving all the time.
> 
> A few resolutions. A few confessions. Still more secrets.


	70. The One Where Solas' Peace is Short Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas receives a mysterious letter in impossible circumstances.

**CHAPTER 70**

Solas floated to the elevator. He felt relief at the conversation that he and Ellana had shared. For the first time in a long time--perhaps ever in his life--that he wasn’t hurtling along a dark path alone. 

Plopping down on a green velvet bar stool at the bar. The same man, Lionel, who had been the guide on the winery tour greeted him with a curt nod and brought him a glass of water. His gold earring glinted in the low light of the bar, reflecting off the bottles of wine decorating the other side of the bar. 

“What can I get you?” He asked in accented Common. 

Solas debated about answering in Elvhen, but thought better of it. “A wine, please. Red if you have it.” 

Lionel raised an eyebrow as if to protest, huffed off to the other side of the bar not returning for what seemed like an exorbitant amount of time to unloose a cork and pour liquid into a glass. Taking out his cell phone, Solas began to scroll through his emails. Preparations for the spring semester were underway. 

Solas was answering several of Dagna’s questions about setting up the labs for his return when he heard Hawen greet him. 

“Thanks for getting a drink with me,” Hawen said slapping Solas on his back like an old friend as he plopped down into the seat next to him. “What a wild afternoon, never thought I’d see something like that even in Var Bellanaris.” 

Solas smiled despite the awkwardness he felt. It wasn’t due to Hawen, more that he wasn’t sure to say to someone he knew so little of, even if they had shared a life-altering experience together. He had forgotten, after spending so much time with Ellana over the last two weeks, how distant he usually felt from those around him. 

“It is I who should thank you for asking. Particularly after we upset the balance of your sacred space.” 

“Better if that door stays sealed in my opinion.” 

“You don’t mind it?” Solas continued curiously. “That magic is declining? Look at the good that it did for Valorian.” 

Hawen’s answer was interrupted by Lionel setting down a glass of green elven wine in front of the Keeper with a soft clank on the bar top. A glass of red wine quickly followed for Solas who took a sip of the dry brew with relish. 

“Magic is what got that boy in the mess in the first place. No, nothing good ever came of magic. There are other ways.” 

“I concede your point,” Solas said in retreat. He too was not fond of ill-used spells but thought it better to stop an argument before it started. 

“I needed to talk to you alone,” Hawen said softly, his eyes cloudy with memory. “I didn’t think that this afternoon would ever come. Less in recent years considering the time that’s elapsed.” Reaching into his chevron-patterned jacket he drew out a faded envelope. Sliding it across the oaken bar to Solas, he gave him an expectant glance. 

“What is this?” Solas asked, making to tear the paper. He wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation or the importance of it. He didn’t think that the Dalish way included any prophecies of the future.

“Before you open it--.” 

“Please.” Solas went to set down the mailer but something inside himself couldn’t release it from his hold. Turning it over in his hands he didn’t see any marks or words indicating its contents. Not even a stamp. 

“When I was a boy, about eleven or so, a woman--an elf--came to the reservation. Wore real nice clothes. She spoke to my father who was more than happy to bring her to Var Bellanaris. A tour. The regulations were different so it wasn’t so unusual.” 

Solas nodded for Hawen to continue. He was peering down at the bleached envelope. It had been a warm brown at one point but was closer to yellow. The touch of the paper was brittle. There was no doubt as to its age. 

“They went. What happened there, I never learned. My Da came back with one less finger, and the woman left a hefty pile of gold as thanks. It was what allowed us to modernize the reservation. Build industry.” 

“Was she Dalish?” A sense of annoyance, followed by dread, overtook Solas. He failed to see what Hawen’s story had to do with the envelope or why he had given it to Solas. Only something in his gut told him that the explanation that followed would upset his recently found peace. 

“No, city elf. Stately. She had yellow eyes, like a hawk, underneath these large sunglasses she wore most of the time. She was old, perhaps as old as I am now.” 

Solas’ stomach dropped. There was no mistaking the description of Mythal. His heart began to race as he tried to piece together how and why she might have traveled here. Was it possible that the orb was here? Why had she not given it to the Evanurious? Fifty or so years ago, as far as Solas knew, she was one of their founding members. 

“My mother had her over for dinner. She was cross that my father wouldn’t tell her about the missing finger, but she was never one to break with tradition. At the end of the meal, the woman gave this to me, told me not to lose it, because years later an elf would come from Arlathan with one of the People and I was to give it to him.” 

Solas’ grip on the envelope tightened. He was doing his best to suppress the trembling that was overtaking him. Hawen’s story had the same effect on him as if he had seen her ghost. 

“I laughed, but the way she looked at me when I did, I knew I mustn't lose it. An Arlathan elf with one of the People? Never thought it would happen.” 

“Almost as unusual as physically entering the Fade.” Solas quipped sarcastically. 

“Didn’t give it too much thought to it until you arrived a few days ago. Sorry, I didn’t come to greet you right away, I was searching for this, put it in a safety deposit box in my office. Ever since my wife died, it's been hard to keep things straight.” 

“I’m not from Arlathan,” Solas replied defensively. “I was born in the far north.” 

“Don’t think I gave this to the wrong person. You have the accent and everything.” 

“Do I?” Solas mused, he hadn’t really given much thought to it. He felt a bit of relief while Hawen placed a kind hand on his shoulder in an avuncular gesture. The feeling was short-lived however when he thought about opening the envelope. He wasn’t sure how, but Mythal had left him a message years before he was even born. Whatever mystery lay inside was sure not to be kind. 

Solas made to open the letter again. 

“Later,” Hawen insisted. “Don’t need to know.” 

“You aren’t the least bit curious?” Solas was skeptical. 

“If I had been I would have opened sixty years ago.” Hawen shrewdly pointed out. “No, forgive me. It is time for me to go to this last phase of my life with less of a burden.” 

“What will you do for your twilight years?” Solas asked, tucking the envelope again in his breast pocket, a distraction to keep his heart from racing. The pit in his stomach began to gnaw again. It felt cruel after having been feeling so happy moments ago. 

“Drink wine in the early afternoon on my porch. Play with my grandchildren. Nothing too complicated. My First will be back from completing his residency soon. It will be good for the clan for new leadership.” 

Solas was about to ask another question. When the words didn’t cohere, he let out a stutter. 

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Keeper Hawen breathed, taking a sip of his elven wine, the particulates in the green liquid swirling around in the stemless wine glass. “Whatever is inside?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“I hope you find happiness at the end of whatever trouble you two are wrapped up in.” 

“Thank you,” Solas said with genuine enthusiasm. “I understand our time here hasn’t been without trouble--but I am glad to have been here. To help Valorian.” 

“You’re welcome here. Come again. It would be good for Ellana considering she’s shunned.” 

“Shunned?” Solas chewed on the word. His chest was bombarded with emotion. 

“A First isn’t allowed back to participate in clan rituals if they refuse the position after receiving their _vallaslin_. Most of the tribe won’t speak to her.” Hawen continued roughly. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. It’s considered an abandonment of the Way. Irredeemable.” 

“No, I didn’t.” Solas mused. 

“I’m assuming, at least, given what I know. She’s from a more conservative tribe than we are. Hard for someone with a mind like that to stay bound to one stretch of land that long." 

“Well, that explains some things.” 

"Make no mistake, though. That one's Dalish. If things work out, you call Old Hawen and I'll marry you."

"I-I. That's kind." 

“You should go read that letter, _da’len,_ ” Hawen said with another kind look through his bushy eyebrows. “You have one more day here?”

Solas nodded. His stomach dropped at the prospect of what the letter might say. 

“I’ll come pick you up for breakfast tomorrow. Drive the sites. Go get rest.” 

The two men shook hands again, exchanging mindless pleasantries fighting over the bill. After waving goodbye for the final time, Solas didn’t waste any time turning around a sharp corner to go into one of the business rooms, set-up with a computer and keyboard for guest business. 

Carefully, he tore open the top seam of the envelope. Pulling out a piece of heavy white paper. The slant of the writing was so familiar to him. For a moment he couldn’t place where it was from. Then he looked down and read the letter: 

_S, you’re close. keep searching. Ellana is the key. M._

Flashbacks to Mythal’s home took over his brain. He thought of the times he would travel back at the end of the semester, sitting across from her on the counter. Although she had a large staff, she liked to do as much as possible herself--especially the cooking. She would write out long lists in leather-bound volumes. Occasionally posting a list of groceries on the refrigerator in her distinctive handwriting. 

Running his finger over the elegant loops he was reminded again of all the hours he had spent studying in his upstairs bedroom when she’d bring him a meal so he didn’t have to stop paging through books. 

He thought the rest of his life would be simple then.  
  
How could Mythal have known he would be at the Dalish reservation? 

Or Ellana? 

Briefly, he hoped that Hawen had lied. Or it was some sort of elaborate hoax? After all, Mythal had been nearing seventy--or so he assumed--when he met her. There was no way she could have been alive, or considered old, half a century ago. Perhaps Hawen was misremembering? 

Although he didn’t know the Dalish Keeper well, even Solas couldn’t see him as anything other than straight forward. 

How then? 

He didn’t have long to pick apart one impossible explanation from another. 

**xxx-xxx-6976, Unknown Caller, 7:34 p.m.**

We need to talk. Soon. L xoxo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist! Theories welcomed :) 
> 
> Thanks, everyone for reading. A few more twists and we are to the end.


	71. The One Where Felix and Ellana Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Ellana have a nice chat.

**CHAPTER 71**

Ellana was sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor of Dorian's spacious campus studio. The workspace was so unlike her own closet-sized office, with large windows that overlooked a dense garden. Surveying the collection of mismatched furniture and clutter filling almost every available surface, Ellana thought it looked more like a storage space. Tipsy shelves were loaded with boxes of art supplies and knickknacks used for still life exercises. She was sure Dorian made no artwork there, as a heap of patterned fabric covered Dorian's desk like a holiday parade. 

The only area of the office that one might term as clean was a small side table with a coffee maker and a pile of ceramic mugs that could be washed in the adjacent utility sink. 

As messy as Dorian’s office was, Ellana found it comfortable and homey and enjoyed working there with him. Sometimes, she'd nap on his couch when he was teaching--as he was now. Ellana could hear his bombastic monologue on course expectations through the wall in the next door critique space.

She was anxious for him to finish because once he was done lecturing, they'd go to the Kirkwall for drinks with Josephine. 

It had been a long week. 

The first week of the semester was coming to an end. Ellana had found it strange at first to transition to the rush and bustle of the city, returning to everyday business. The routine had been reassuring. The work, helpful, as she didn't want to focus on how much she missed Solas. She hadn't seen him for three days, given his brutal hospital shifts.

 _“Are we really going to have to schedule every time we see one another?”_ She lamented the evening before classes started. Solas' arms were wrapped around her waist as she clicked away on her keyboard on the kitchen isle. 

_“Yes, considering we both work about sixty hours a week with asynchronous schedules.”_ Solas mused, his breath tickling her ear. _“Sometimes, more_. _I think you should give Dagna access to your calendar. She'll make time._ ”

She had resisted, but after unsuccessfully skimming through their appointments, she clicked on share on her calendar settings. An hour later, she had watched in wonder as Dagna had clustered Solas' appointments in a new configuration. Solas' assistant hadn't identified much time--a lunch here, an evening there--but it was enough. 

Ellana had thrown herself into the start of the semester at full zeal. Partially out of habit and partially as a distraction from all the stress of her emerging other life. She gazed at the piles of paper in front of her with some relief in the present moment. In a fit of last-minute creativity, she had asked for her advanced students to draw a map of their comprehension of the art canon. Some were better than others. A handful were exceptional. For instance, one student had drawn a rudimentary comic of artworks greeting each other--another a fantastic building with different styles from throughout history. It gave her brain something to chew on. If only for a couple of hours.

“I respect that you grade yourself,” Felix asked from the opposite couch. He had been writing out a complicated formula on a hand-held dry erase board that made Ellana’s head swim. She had barely passed college algebra. “I rarely do. Although evaluating math equations at the lower levels don’t have the same sort of nuance to be very compelling.” 

Ellana had taken to Felix right away. Dorian’s friend had been giving a visiting professorship at the university and had joined her and the usual group late-night lesson planning. He was quiet, thoughtful, and articulate. He was particularly interested in Ellana’s time in Minrathous, as he missed the city. They had spent half an evening over drinks reminiscing about their favorite spots. 

Sitting together in Dorian's office to work together had made for a peaceful afternoon. 

“My subject might be more fun,” Ellana teased, adding another map to her graded stack. She had been writing out feedback on light pink post-it notes she carefully affixed to the corners. “I still gave my TAs their own section to work on. I couldn’t resist looking these over." 

“No doubt.” The mathematician laughed, scratching out some of the numbers that danced on the surface and replacing them with other esoteric symbols. 

“There are some great gems,” Ellana laughed, holding up a large drawing from her favorite problematic student, Sera. The artist had filled the page with large block letters spelling out the word C-A-P-I-T-A-L-I-S-M and surrounded the script with mawkishly rendered rainbows and smiley faces. 

“Maker’s Breath,” Felix laughed, covering his mouth. “Will that student pass?”

“Subjective assignment,” Ellana shrugged. “I’d rather see some creative engagement than rote demonstrations of fact.” 

“We are definitely in different subjects.” Felix conceded with a wry chuckle. “What does your chair think of these marvelous assignments?” 

Ellana sighed. She had just come back from a meeting with Vivienne. It had not gone well. The curator had reminded her--rather forcefully--about the requirements of applying for tenure. She and her supervisor would be meeting in a week for Ellana to give a more detailed update of her progress. A trap, Ellana was sure, only she couldn’t place Vivienne’s motivations. Had Ellana done something to rankle her? 

“She thinks my professional qualifications should be given a priority,” Ellana admitted setting down her pen. “Academia, right? One can never produce enough publications. Only, in the end, I’d like to think we are here to inspire our students.” 

“You and Dorian are going to Deneirum in a few months? For the college arts conference. Isn’t that a big deal?”

“I’d like to think so,” Ellana said. She had been selected to lead a panel discussion on elven depictions of the Exalted March. It had been given a prime slot with several prestigious art historians from across Thedas. She had spent a few afternoons earlier in the week piecing together arguments on how the Dalish had preserved nomadic traditions that could be traced back to that moment. 

Not focusing on the orb or finding more evidence about where they might find a similar environment as Var Bellnaris had filled her with guilt. The feeling didn't lessen when she put down her lesson planning and attempt to page through a few new sources. Not for the first time that year, Ellana considered quitting her job. Only what then? 

Besides, the conference she had been admitted to had been one of the highest professional recognitions she’d achieved to date—a stepping stone to bigger and brighter things. 

Maybe she'd be allowed to teach an elective next year. 

“It’s hard,” Felix admitted. “Certainly, I have my parents’ connections to thank for many of my opportunities. Without them, it would have been harder.” 

“I’m glad to be given a chance,” Ellana responded wistfully. “Although, I can’t say living in Val Royeaux is easy. Particularly for a Dalish elf.” 

She had strongly hinted to Dorian and Bull earlier over dinner about some of the winter interim events. She hadn’t told them any concrete information but had suggested enough that they had some clues about what might have prompted Solas’ last-minute excursion to a Dalish reservation. Ellana was uncertain what Felix was or wasn’t aware of in terms of what had happened over the last semester. Nor had Ellana forgotten that moment, finding Felix and Solas whispering at her birthday party. Even if Dorian did not, she had a suspicion that there was more to his childhood friend who met the eye. 

“I know we don’t know each other well, but do you ever think of going back to Tevinter? Perhaps we can get a group together this summer and go to Minrathous? Take a break and lounge on the beaches.” 

“Oh, I’d love that. Something to look forward to,” Ellana chirped. She paused a few seconds before continuing. “Solas has never been.”

She was still getting used to making references to their relationship. The two were basically living together. 

_“I suppose now that the semester has started, I should move back into my apartment more full time,"_ Ellana had said absently as she had gotten ready to teach her first class.

 _“Stay as long as you like,”_ Solas whispered to her as he lay in the bed listening to a news show. He had Monday mornings off. _“Only if you wish to, of course.”_

_“Another night? Tonight. Is that--?"_

She was about to run downstairs for Blackwall to drive her to campus in a black escalade--a security precaution--when Solas had grabbed her for one last embrace. Or so she had thought. Instead, he had pressed a set of keys into her unsuspecting palm. Ellana stared down at them in disbelief and was about to hand them back when Solas interrupted. _“It will be easier if you have the option devoid of my presence. I can have a code set-up for you to access the building.”_

Ellana turned around to look at Solas, her hands clasped around his neck. 

_“You’re really in this.”_ She had said, the words coming out in a half-surprise. Although Ellana didn't doubt Solas' fidelity to her, it was something else entirely to say it out loud—a confirmation. 

_“Yes, what was it that you called me at the reservation?”_ he teased, his hands wandering lower to grip the roundness of her ass as he pressed his forehead against hers to kiss her goodbye. _“Your boyfriend?”_

Considering their commitment, it shouldn't be so weird to bring him up in conversation, especially with her friends. 

Why did it feel so strange to do so now with Felix? 

He was looking at her as if she had revealed something scandalous. 

“That is,” Ellana continued awkwardly, “Solas is someone who would enjoy the vibrancy of the city.” 

“He’s never been to Tevinter before? I _swear_ he mentioned going to Minrathous at some point.” 

Ellana didn’t claim to be a mind reader, but she considered herself skilled at reading people. After all, as a Dalish elf, she had to discern on a regular what level of disdain she might meet from bystanders and if it would turn violent rather quickly. Something lingering under Felix’s startled tone made her gut rumble. Did Felix know something she didn’t know about Solas? It was possible. His body language, so at ease moments before, had tensed. Almost as if he felt guilty about something. 

“No, he told me he’s never gone. I think he went over the border once, but--”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have been confused.” Felix said quickly with a nervous inhale. His expression placid once more. “In which case, I’d be happy to host the excursion at my family’s summer home.” 

“That be lovely,” Ellana responded politely. She was careful to keep her voice even, unsure what the conversation had revealed to her.

Only something was rotten, like rancid meat in the sun. 

Why would Solas lie about going to Minrathous? It seemed like such an odd thing to mislead her about. He knew how much she loved the city--and what it meant to her. Certainly, wouldn't that be a subject the two could bond over? 

More importantly, did Ellana want to know? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for reading. We are actually starting to get towards the end. I hope everyone Nano-ing this year is having a good & easy time in this strange year.


	72. The One Where Ellana Curses A Beetle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has a terrible day; Solas offers grilled cheese sandwiches. A bug appears.

**CHAPTER 72**

Solas stopped at the market before driving home for the weekend. It would be a late dinner. He was certain that Ellana wouldn’t have eaten yet. A typical academic, she usually forgot to put down her research for a meal. Since the semester had started, Solas had already found her passed out on his kitchen table, her cheek pressed against an open book.  
  
The first time Ellana slid on a black wool coat to go to campus—instead of her faux fur leopard jacket—Solas realized she was living a split life. Watching her slip into a pair of uncomfortable pumps, he began to see how many tiny concessions she made to conform to the institution. It saddened Solas to think of it--of how confined it must feel day-in, day-out to have to agonize over if every small action was professional. Or enough. 

Solas knew Ellana loved her students. Why then did she frown the entire time she pulled on her carefully pressed suit? Also, was she too thin? She had the type of build Solas knew would always be slight--a tiny waist and a straight frame. No, it was the way she carried herself, getting ready in the morning like a delicate bird.

Mostly, Solas thought she appeared tired. The kind of sinister adjunct fatigue developed after accepting neverending burnout. A situation usually rewarded with ulcers from worrying if one had published a sufficient number of articles or was adequately accessible to warrant kind reviews from their students. He wanted to help, but he definitely wasn’t sure where to start. 

There was an unspoken rule between them that Solas wouldn’t pry too much into Ellana’s position on campus. Leliana had already told him about how the art history department referred to her as a “diversity hire.” Solas didn’t want to imagine what their colleagues might say or do if they perceived her benefiting from nepotism. 

That evening his solution to brighten Ellan’s morale that evening wasn’t particularly inventive: grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. Inspiration struck Solas in the dairy section. A sharp cheddar from Fereldan was on sale, as well as freshly baked sourdough bread. Stopping by produce, he picked up some hothouse tomatoes to add--simple and classic. 

Listening to the store clerk's pings ringing up his items, Solas was struck by the ludicrous contrast of how mundane the last week had been in comparison to the weeks prior. As Dagna had observed in their 1:1 meeting--with a little too much disappointment for his taste--nothing had exploded or broken all week in the lab. The hospital? Most of his appointments had been conversations about routine care. 

Hopefully, the peace would continue that evening. His schedule towards the last part of the week had been back-to-back. Ellana’s the same. It would be good to spend Friday night in. 

Unlocking the door, Solas expected to find Ellana engrossed in another monumental tome. Instead, he was surprised to spot her curled up fast asleep on the living room couch. The way she was tucked in the corner, still half-sitting, made him think she had simply collapsed. Her coat and tote books were dumped around her feet. She was still dressed for work, square bottom pumps and a black skirt suit with a black silk shell underneath. 

She was so tired that the sound of him unlocking the door and setting down a few bags in the kitchen didn’t rouse her. 

Walking over to the living room, Solas flipped on the switch to the fireplace before kneeling on the side of the couch. Once, in his early days in the emergency room, he had woken up a patient by gently tapping them on the shoulder only to have them start shrieking. He had never attempted to wake someone else that way again.

“Ellana,” Solas said softly, repeating her name a few times until two glassy eyes looked back at him. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead. It wasn’t hot, but she was definitely flushed. Her face pinched and restless. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks. He can’t be sure, but it seemed as if she was getting sick. “Long day?” 

“There was a bug,” Ellana responded in a drowsy voice. “A _fucking_ bug.” 

“A bug?” Solas chuckled to himself. He wasn’t sure what the art historian was referencing. Or where her anger was coming from.

“Some sort of beetle. At the campus museum. Stuck in one of the display cases with the Andrastian altarpieces. I took my class to do an in-person study.” 

Solas stroked loose strands of hair away from her forehead, the gesture eliciting a faint smile. A second touch, Ellana was burning up. 

“Bugs have to be reported to security.” She said, her voice growing more alert as she continued with her explanation. “Faculty are mandated to.” 

“Did you report the offending insect?” 

“I didn’t get a chance to.” Ellana groaned, sitting up straight to look Solas directly in the eyes. 

Solas laughed. The stony look Ellana shot him sobering him. “I apologize. The nuance is lost on me.” 

“By the time I found out about the bug half my students--about twenty in total--had gathered around the case, ” She paused with an exasperated sigh. “They named the bug. Invented an incredibly blasphemous elaborate backstory for it.” 

Solas was relieved to hear her laugh. It was a sad, resigned sound. 

“Vivienne,” Ellana broke out in hysterical laughter. It was more of a sob. “Walked by as I was trying to figure out what the excitement was. Before I could take control of the situation, Sera, who you might recall from that _‘performance’_ last semester, threatened to hold a sit-in to save the beetle’s life if it was under threat.” 

“Creators,” Solas cursed. “That is unlucky.” 

“Vivienne laughed and pretended to feel charmed in front of the students. Promised Sera that she’d do her best to take care of it in a humane way.” Ellana drew in another breath before vigorously shaking her head from side-to-side as if trying to pretend the whole thing had never happened. “Sera had none of it and called her a bourgeois fascist whose only joy in life was raising tuition costs.” 

“All this over a bug?” 

“Yes,” Ellana lamented, “After this, I pulled Sera to the side and had tried to reason with her as Vivienne attempted to bring some order to the chaos, explaining to the students that insects had to go to preservation so they could determine if there was an infestation that could cause real damage. Sera calmed a bit when I offered for her to write a final term paper arguing for humane insecticide policies in art museums.” 

“Generous,” Solas said with a polite tip of his head. 

“However, one of Sera’s buddies then started to chant ‘free Shartan, end the oppression.’ and then all the gathered students followed.” 

“Shartan?” Solas was doing his best to track the conversation but found himself overwhelmed by the absurdity. 

“Yes, you see the beetle was first observed climbing up the figure that typically represents Shartan to Andraste’s side, even without the, you know--,” Ellana paused pointing to her ears, “So, later, I found out that the group had joked that the beetle was in fact Shartan’s ghost ready to bring about justice in an iconoclastic rage one small munch at a time.” 

“That’s--”

“There words not mine, verbatim,” Ellana sighed, choking down another laugh-sob. “If Vivienne hadn’t have been there, I would have praised their ingenuity and unorthodox interpretations of the class materials. It was so funny and creative. Only, with Vivienne sternly watching, I had no choice. I sent the entire group back to the classroom--reprimanded them for not completing the assignment.”

“I imagine Vivienne was not amused?” He was doing his best not to actively criticize the chair, however much deserved. 

“Oh, Solas,” Ellana said in a mournful cry he had never heard from her. “She summoned me to her office as soon as my section was over. It would have been easier if she had yelled at me. That’s not her style, as you know, so instead, she interrogated me with these breathy “darlings” and “dears.” Asked me how many years of teaching experience--what I’d do differently going forward. Continued by asking me what my interpretation of the word ‘pedagogy’ was.” 

Solas placed a hand on Ellana’s, noticing for the first time she was violently trembling. Her magic fizzling about like a shaken-up can being opened. He rose from his knees to sit next to her, pulling her body flush to his.

“I spent six years of my life studying in one of the most prestigious institutions, secured grants and fellowships, publications. I can’t tell you how often an entitled male cohort member told me to give up or that what I wanted was impossible. I graduated top of my program, you know.” 

Solas shook his head. He had not. 

Ellana took a ragged inhale before continuing, all of her muscles tensing. “And yet with all my achievements, there I was, so angry, listening quietly to Vivienne scold me like a clueless child--and I did nothing. I sat there with my hands folded daintily on my lap, trying to appear as complacent as possible. Not once did I defend myself.” 

“Oh, Ellana,” Solas cajoled, taken aback as Ellana laid her head on his chest and burst into tears. He expected it surprised Ellana as much as him to be doing so. “It will be alright. Vivienne is all bite, but she’s not--”

“It’s not over,” Ellana murmured into his chest. “She asked me about the exhibition _our_ exhibition.” 

“I thought she was pleased so far--she told me so the other day.” Solas had unexpectedly run into the curator at the senior faculty dining hall. At that time, she had been all praise. Solas had even thought it appeared genuine. 

“She told me,” Ellana nodded, her breathing calming as she pressed the side of her face against his chest. “What did she say? Oh yes, she was ‘excited for such a rare, groundbreaking show.’ Fucking bullshit.” 

“Is that--”

“Ugh, then she ended her killing blow,” Ellana began to mimic Vivienne’s saccharine tone, “Oh, darling, you’re a new faculty member, I want to ensure that you have all the resources you need for a marvelous year, oh say, dear, did you know about this little policy?” 

“Policy?” Solas sputtered. 

“Faculty are not allowed to date...” Ellana’s voice trailed off, pulling back a bit to look Solas directly in the eyes again. She started to speak, only then drew her mouth into a firm line. 

“Students, obviously.” Solas offered, “Each other? Surely half the faculty at the University of Orlais are married to other faculty who they met while teaching.” 

“No, non-tenured faculty are not allowed to be in romantic relationships with senior-level faculty who have direct supervisory authority over their work. I looked it up after Vivienne--” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Solas said. He could feel his jaw go slack with the shock. “We are in separate departments.” 

“Yes, but considering that you and I are working on an exhibition together, where you are considered the primary facilitator, or so Vivienne strongly hinted…”

“Yes, but then I would be the one to bear the consequences.” Solas shrugged. “None of the upper-level administrators would entertain this other than a nuisance complaint--by all means. She can file one.”

“My tenure committee might retaliate. When I was in the office today, I could feel them all staring. Only Wynne greeted me verbally--what did I do to any of them?” 

“Oh, Ellana,” Solas repeated, drawing her in more tightly to his chest. He stroked her hair, trying to imbue the gesture with all of his care for her. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt your career. If I had known--”

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Ellana’s pronouncement came out jumbled as she sobbed again, her hands gripped Solas’ shirt. A burst of charged mana at her fingertips that fizzled lightly through the shoulder of his sport coat. 

“Our relationship?” Solas asked, careful not to sound accusatory as his stomach dropped. The current state of affairs was complicated, but he was hopeful that her statement didn’t apply to their romance.

“No, sorry. Teaching. I don’t know if I can stay at the University. Or that I want to.” 

“If that is a decision you wish to make, I might suggest you do so with a clear head in full control of the situation. It wouldn’t be a failure to quit. There are other options.” 

“I’m sorry to be such a mess,” Ellana admitted a few minutes later once she had regained some composure. Solas had traced circles on her back with his thumbs as she cried. 

“It is I who should apologize for all the unintentional hardships I’ve caused you. The polemic, suggesting the exhibition.” His voice faded as he mentally counted all the twists and turns of the past year. “You’re not a mess. You’re having a rational, emotional reaction.” 

“I’m glad, in any event, however difficult things are right now--.” Ellana admitted with a small laugh, “that we met.” 

“That is much more lenient than I deserve.” Solas chuckled, relieved to see Ellana straighten again facing him. Her back against the arm of the sofa next to where he was sitting at the center of the couch. 

“I missed you,” Ellana said at an almost inaudible whisper. Solas had to ask her to repeat herself much to her chagrin. 

“Should I not say that? Is it too much?” She asked, startled when Solas didn’t respond right away. His heart swelled. 

“Never too much,” Solas reassured, reaching out to link his fingers between hers. "That policy is complete bunk.” 

“It was put into place when women were admitted to faculty, for their own 'protection.'” 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

"What should we do?" 

"We can be careful on campus. I don't believe that Dorian, Felix, or Josephine would also mind being complicit in such a thing. The exhibition ends in June, at the end of the semester, by then--"

"You wouldn't be advising me." Ellana laughed again, this time louder, her face falling when she finished. “Solas, I don’t know where I will be at the end of this semester. I’ve been toying with the idea of moving back to Minrathous, working in one of the auction houses.” 

“If that is what you would like--” 

Ellana covered her mouth with her hand; the tears welling up again. This time, Solas could see her fight them, pushing them down with practiced discipline. He wondered how often she shoved her emotions away. The thought saddened him. 

“I was going to mention,” Solas said, drawing her towards his chest again. “That, although it is too early, by other standards, to have this conversation. My job can go anywhere. The doctor bit in any event.” 

Ellana didn’t respond. Her mouth was drawn in a firm line. 

“If that is a discussion we need to have in the future--” Solas’s voice trailed off. “I understand your career is not as flexible as mine might be, but it is certainly possible for me to easily move practices.” 

Ellana squeezed his hand, a signal he returned. The conversation trailed off into a companionable silence as the two stared at the fireplace in front of them. 

“We have to find the orb,” Ellana said as if in her room, her head resting against his shoulder again. “All of this is theoretical if we don’t.” 

“Correct,” Solas said as Ellana tucked her head underneath his chin, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

“Why were you napping on the couch?” Solas asked once he could feel Ellana’s trembling subside. “The bed is certainly more comfortable.” 

“I was in a rage the entire way home, and then I felt faint. I sat down one moment. The next you woke me up.” 

“You’re running a temperature as if you exhausted your mana.” 

“I haven’t cast any spells today. I know I should--but I ran out of time.” 

“It’s a side-effect from your sleep disorder. Extreme emotional reactions trigger an attack of sorts. It must feel miserable.”

It took all of Solas’ self-control to fight an animalistic instinct not to carry Ellana up the stairs and tenderly put her to bed. He knew she’d protest if he made any attempt to do so.

“It has felt worse,” Ellana said stoically.

Solas chuckled softly. His hand cupping Ellana's face, finger tracing the edge of her cheek. 

"Ellana?"

"Yes?"

“Although inadequate to redeem this day, I thought I’d make grilled cheese for dinner.” 

“Oh, that's perfect.” Ellana beamed, “I think I forgot to eat lunch today.” 

_No doubt._

“A movie after? Or two?” Solas suggested with hope. “Research-free. I'll even watch the Hero of Fereldan without complaint.” 

He wanted to see if he could persuade Ellana to take an evening off at the very least.

“I can try,” Ellana chuckled, flinging herself off the couch, standing to smooth her suit--rubbing her face. “I think I need to go take a hot shower. I’m so cold. Do you mind? Do you need help with dinner?” 

“Go relax,” Solas rose, drawing Ellana in for one last embrace followed by a deep kiss that rapidly turned into several more trailing into the kitchen. 

“I missed you too,” he said when their bodies separated again. 

Ellana winked, turning to go upstairs again.

Solas began to unpack his shopping bags when he heard the clack of Ellana’s shoes coming into the kitchen. 

“I had a strange conversation with Felix the other day.” She mentioned absently. 

“Oh?” It took all of his training to keep his body calm, face imperceptible. 

“He suggested you’d been to Tevinter before. Minrathous specifically. I told him he was mistaken, however.” 

“I have not explored that city” A lie, but close to the truth. “No.” 

“Well, in any event," Ellana shrugged, "I hope we can travel there one day." 

“Sometime soon,” he agreed, bending to kiss Ellana on the cheek before she bounded up the stairs again. 

It was getting harder for Solas to keep track of who knew what. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bug is based on a true story.


	73. The One Where Dagna Works The Real Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana goes to campus. Dagna appears and runs an experiment. She also makes sookies.

**CHAPTER 73**

Ellana was working in the registrar's office in the campus museum carefully tagging new works for her exhibition. 

The objects for the exhibition had arrived from the Warehouse on a very early Sunday morning. As part of her security protocol, Blackwall and Josephine had picked her up from Solas’ apartment in a black Inquisition SUV to drive her safely to campus. 

Ellana felt out of place, waiting for them in the sparkling lobby of the luxury condo building. Too much artifice, or so Ellana thought, as she surveyed the indistinctive color field works secured to the wall. She found them offensive, not for the lack of skill, but because of the unnecessary glitter mixed into the paint. Her distaste of the building was amplified when the doorman--a qunari gentleman in a red cap--jumped up to open the door for her the moment she went climbing into the car circling the inner courtyard. 

None of it was necessary. How did Solas find living there so tolerable? 

Upon arrival, Josephine and Blackwall had left her to her work. Occasionally she could hear their muffled laughter as they meandered the hallways. The museum had one particularly enjoyable exhibition of early daguerreotypes of Orlesian nobility, including a few death portraits with emperors surrounded by courtiers dressed up like Andraste’s holy council welcoming the deceased to the Golden City. 

Ellana would have liked to have joined them, and would have, except she needed to concentrate. Not on the exhibition, but here the state of her life. The quiet of the museum centered her. Alone, for the first time in ages with artworks that roused her deepest aspirations, she was recovering some of her _raison d’etre_. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t her job to prep the objects and take inventory. The registrar had been reluctant to allow her to do so until they heard about her experience working at the museum in Minrathous while obtaining her doctorate. Initially, when Ellana started her career, she had wanted to go into museum work. Still, none of the institutions had substantial collections of elven artifacts, particularly those in which she specialized. 

Looking closely at an ornate headdress shaped like halla antlers, Ellana carefully teased out some of the strands of leather and made a few notes on the intake paperwork. She’d have everything photographed in the upcoming work week to produce a small catalog. A properly printed one with full-color images. 

Although the exhibition hadn’t been her idea initially, it was fortunate to have access to such a collection finally, and she was pleased with the overall concept.

Ellana worried, however, at Vivienne’s warning. What if the other faculty found out that the artifacts were from Solas’ collection and we're in a relationship? She might as well put her future career prospects in a blender with liquid cyanide. 

Still, no matter how tenuous her faculty standing was, Ellana was excited to show Solas how well the exhibition was progressing. He was originally going to come along to campus but had to change plans last minute after a hospital page. He’d insisted on taking her to his favorite, ‘usually quiet,’ cafe that night for dinner. 

Since weeping into his shirt last night, Ellana felt disoriented. Solas wasn’t to blame for that. She appreciated how much he cared for her, but the fussing--no matter how hard Solas tried to make such efforts invisible--felt cloistering at times. Sometimes, it only amplified the hollowness Ellana had been feeling concerning her career and life in Val Royeaux. 

Why? She couldn’t say. 

A rapping on the glass door interrupted her thoughts. Rising, she saw the diminutive form of Dagna peering into the glass door, her breath fogging up the surface. 

“Dagna!” Ellana welcomed her by setting down one of the small Dalish statutes carefully onto white cloth and then walking up to let her into the room. 

“Listen, you should probably know,” Dagna said, looking around to make sure they were alone. “The School does not employ me, but the Inquisition. Well, technically by the School, but that’s window dressing.” 

“Oh?” Ellana asked. “I was under the impression you were ABD?” 

“I am, but the Inquisition is funding me and providing most of the resources. I like working for Professor Fen’Harel too. I get to do the coolest things in the lab, and he’s super accommodating with all my side projects. Anyway-I wanted to know if you’d like me to try a little experiment out. On your magic? I think I have an idea.” 

“Will it involve bloodletting? Needles?” 

“No,” Dagna chortled. “Only let’s talk more in my office. It is more secure than this.” 

“Let me lock up.” Ellana said, “I’ll be right over.” 

“Listen, can we bring the glass sphere that you set off at the Warehouse? It’s why I stopped over here.” 

“You know about that?” 

“Only the unclassified parts. Do you want to tell me the rest?” 

\---

“You took off all your jewelry? “ Dagna’s broadcasted voice asked as Ellana lowered herself onto the flat metal bed. She had changed into a pair of soft spare scrubs found in Solas’ office so that Dagna could feed her through the giant PET scan in the basement lab. 

“I don’t usually wear any, just the sphere.” 

Ellana was carefully clutching the sphere in her hands. At first, she had protested, worried her magic might be set off, only for Dagna to have her test contact in a neutral room. 

“Nice. Ok, you can talk to me if it makes you feel better. I’ll play some music too. Only try not to move when you’re in the tube.” 

Ellana tried not to laugh when Dagna turned on the radio to play the current hits. A boy band whose name she had forgotten crooned in Orlesian. Dagna pleasantly sang along as she hit the buttons. Ellana had always liked Solas’ assistant, but she grew even fonder as they spent more time together. 

“Ready?” Dagna called. Ellana gave a thumbs up in the direction of the operations booth. 

She didn’t feel nervous about going into the narrow tube, but the loud shifting gears made her have to fight back a momentary panic as she was loaded headfirst through the machine. 

“It’s hard, but try not to move. It will help us get a clearer scan.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Ellana responded through gritted teeth. She was completely immersed in the metal tube. She would be expected to lay almost entirely still for the next hour, the sphere radiating cold energy as she clutched it to her belly. 

“So, the lucky thing about this machine is that I augmented it, so it picks up on magic suffusing the brain, so we don’t have to inject you full of nasty radioactive chemicals to see what’s going on. No radioactivity also means we can have this without the usual safety measures in place.” 

“How did you manage that?” Ellana said, trying to keep motionless and failing. 

“Switched out some of the radiopharmaceuticals with lyrium. The lyrium reacts to any spell casting. I don’t know why, but it makes a tidy map.” 

Dagna sang out loud to the new song on the radio. Her humming loud and off-key. 

“Wow, you’re brimming with magic,” the scientist gasped after another song change, “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s pretty. Ok, ignore that. I’ll show you when we’re done.” 

Ellana wasn’t sure if she should be nervous or excited. 

“Ok, let’s get this going. Can you wake the sphere up?”

“I don’t know if it's sleeping exactly?” 

“Think of it this way. We often privilege the mind over the object.” Dagna’s voice was chipper despite the heavy topic on her lips, “What if we did the opposite? Consider the thing in your hands as having its own kind of mind, existing independently of your own cognition. On equal footing, but different.” 

“Very metaphysical.” 

“That’s how I get the machines to work,” Dagna advised. “Isn’t that how you get the things you work with to tell you their story?” 

“As a matter of speaking,” Ellana said, her words echoing into the empty chamber. She found Dagna’s advice wise even if she wouldn’t describe her process that way. 

“Ok, so give it a nudge. Like saying hello.” 

Ellana closed her eyes, focusing on the sphere in her hand. She wasn’t sure how to approach building synergy with the object in question. It wasn’t like she could share a beer with it. 

“Listen, don’t overthink it. It's sort of like if you put two pianos together and pull a string,” Dagna interrupted. “They’ll reverberate next to each other. That should take off some of the pressure of whatever spell you’re trying to dredge up.”

“Alright,” Ellana said, clenching her eyes shut again. Her mana was rebounding off the walls encasing her supine body. It was excited until another ineffable force pushed back on it. Instead of fighting it, Ellana let her magic settle, allowing it to flow without trying to nudge it any particular way. The sphere, dormant, made a tinkling sound and then lit up so brightly that Ellana thought momentarily that she was holding a small sun in her hands. 

“Great!” Dagna said, “You did it.” 

“I’m not sure what I did,” Ellana muttered. The magic began to trickle over her body in waves, pleasant and warm. She felt like she was on the beach, a buzz in her ears. Her magic felt malleable for once, as if she were holding a handful of clay willing to be molded. But into what? 

\---

Ellana was sitting on the other side of Dagna’s desk, picking at a tray of homemade cookies that the assistant had cooked herself and insisted on sharing. Chocolate chip and slightly burnt. Not her favorite, but the sugar helped her think clearly again after the magical symphony she had summoned. 

“I love impossible things. Those are the best to make, well possible.” The Dwarf exuberantly shouted, knocking off a disorderly pile of papers on her desk. Unlike the rest of the sterile lab, Dagna’s office was warm and cozy. Ellana had exhausted herself in the PET scan responding to the scientist’s different requests. Shivering, Dagna had handed her a homemade afghan made out of bright green yarn to wrap herself in. 

“How so?”

“I’ve read over Professor Fen’Harel’s notes from your time in the sleep lab. He’s right. Only, I think he needed a new perspective. Professor S is great at pathologies and treatment with all due respect, but he’s not a biomedical engineer. That’s where I come in, to meditate on function.” 

“I’m listening,” Ellana said with another bite of the soft-baked good. 

“It’s like a key. A very complicated key.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“This is theoretical,” Dagna said, playing with the knit weave of her rainbow patterned scarf. “Your magic. To me, your magic does a very sophisticated thing. It’s not about opening or closing, but about being able to do both.” 

Dagna turned her oversized computer monitor around for Ellana to see more closely. 

“See, this is Professor’s brain during a nap.” She continued, pointing to a black and white scan of brain matter. Tiny particles littered the entire brain, as if someone had taken a hole punch and cut out small bits of the picture. “With the weird Fade thing, he has some control, but not much. Mostly, his brain function is active, not passive.

“Here is Professor’s brain while he’s awake. You’ll note the particles cling to different areas than when he’s sleeping or casting spells in the next slide.” Dagna said in the same voice one might use reading a picture book to a child, clicking her space bar revealing another scan. This time, it was a normal brain—a strange scrapbook. 

“And here is Professor’s brain casting a spell.” This time the particles were clustered in distinct bunches on the scan. Dagna took out a laser pointer from her front pocket, shining a red dot on the various clusters identifying them. “The visual cortex isn’t the only area that reacts to magic, but it can be the most important. Along with the prefrontal cortex. Mostly about willpower, as the professor tells me.” 

“Wow,” Ellana breathed. “I had no idea.”

“Science didn’t really think about magic until it started to disappear. It was taken for granted. I think really, the Dwarven scientists wanted to understand why they couldn’t cast magic and other races could, so they started trying to find empirical reasons for how magic worked.” 

“Did they come to any conclusions?” 

“The way Dwarven sleep cycles work. Something about evolving neuro structures to live underground with the barometric pressure: fun, right? Dwarves, who lived on the surface for a few generations, started to develop slight magical abilities until the decline started to happen a couple hundred years ago.” 

“So interesting,” Ellana responded, gazing at the images of Solas’ brain, trying to connect them with her abilities. 

“Mages didn’t like to admit to those studies, however. It destroyed the magic, literally, to make it mechanical. I can tell you it's a helpful tool to put magic into these terms sometimes. For example, I’ve observed that more particles make for stronger magic users like Professor here.” 

Dagna closed the window and brought up another set of images. 

“Here is what an average mage’s brain looks like,” Ellana noted less particles and fewer clusters. In some of the images, there were hardly any faint specks. 

“So when I pull your scans up, you’ll understand how unique you are. At least relative to a cross-section of average magic users.” 

Ellana steeled herself for her own set of scans. She had a faint idea of what Dagna would reveal but wasn’t sure what it would add to her current understanding. Or what it might change. 

“Ready?” Dagna asked her permission. 

Ellana nodded. 

The scans in front of her were perplexing. One could barely see the brain given the field of white particles. Some were more transparent than others, as if the scan had a difficult time capturing them given quick movement. 

“This is you awake,” Dagna said, before another tap of her space bar. The subsequent image wasn’t very different, only some added density in particular sectors. “You have more centers of your brain active, but there isn’t much control. That’s why Professor S is having you taper off the magic throughout the day, keeping it low.” 

“Yes,” Ellana breathed. “Or when I exercise.” 

Dagna nodded. “Which, it's funny when you came up with this idea for an exhibition because it's almost like you found your best medicine because check this out!” 

Another image on the screen appeared. She saw the clusters again. Powerful and dense, but forming into more discrete units. 

“The foci does the same thing, redistributing the magic to exist in both places. You’re able to sort through your intentions differently.

Ellana peered down at her hands, trying to reconcile how powerful she was learning her magic to be. If she inclined to, she could 

“Dagna,” Ellana heard Solas’ deep voice call out as he walked to the door. “Did you get my email about updating the declining that one committee meeting? I can’t remember the name of offhand--?” 

Walking through the threshold of the door, Solas spotted Ellana his chiseled jaw tightening with confusion. For a moment, she could see him as she had guessed he appeared at work, hard with none of the tenderness he so often gave her. His tailored suit crisply pressed so that nothing was out of line or rumpled. Everything from the line of his jacket to the absent stubble conveyed control. 

“Didn’t we ban on food in the lab?” Solas said with mock sternness to Dagna. A small smile betrayed his amusement. “If so, how did Dr. Lavellan manage to find a plate of homemade cookies?” 

“Technically, this isn’t the lab Professor.” Dagna sassed with a wicked grin. 

“My mistake.” Solas said, “Although, I can’t deny that I’m curious as to what is going on. Exhibition planning” He gestured towards the sphere in its container sitting undisturbed on Dagna’s desk. 

“A few scans of Dr. Lavellan’s brain,” Dagna said before Ellana could answer in what sounded like a slight dare. “I think you’ll be interested in what I found.” 

Ellana watched Solas as Dagna summarized the scans. His face was placid and impenetrable. A flicker of amazement in his eyes rising to the surface when he read some indecipherable graphs that Dagna had printed out and handed to him. Taking his reading glasses out of his breast pocket, he mulled over a few more sets of data before peering at the screen. 

“Are these with the sphere?” He asked his assistant while stealing a glance over at Ellana. She wasn’t sure of its meaning. 

“This confirms most of what we already theorized from the sleep lab,” Solas said, flopping down into Dagna’s deep couch when he had finished reading. “These scans prove that your magic operates in both the Fade and the waking world simultaneously.” 

“Professor,” Dagna said in a reverent tone that Ellana had never heard from Solas’ assistant, “I think I might use a new metaphor.” 

“Hmm?” Solas said, peering up at his assistant with a thoughtful frown. 

“Do you remember when we did those scans on you sleeping to try and figure out how you could lucidly navigate the Fade?” 

“Yes,” 

“Your magic, we decided then, was more about opening a small part of the Fade up. If I were to think of this in terms of machinery, or what the sphere might do…” 

“Dr. Lavellan can open and close the Fade. Going back and forth, rather than simply in one direction.” Solas finished with an amused laugh. “Which is why, when we were navigating the Fade physically, it was flickering. It wasn’t unstable because of age or its relationship to the Veil.”

“It was being pulled into one direction,” Ellana said. “By your presence and Valorian’s before that.” 

“Yes,” Souls said, “Which disrupted the balance, which the elves were obsessed with. Perhaps because the Veil was thinner at that time.” 

“So the site we found, if we use some of the iconographic clues,” Ellana said, “That was a place where the Fade and the world could be shifted. The Veil diverted or overcame for whatever purposes.” 

“There is added complexity, though,” Dagna said, pulling up the images of Ellana’s brain while she was awake again, “That the opening and closing happens simultaneously when you’re awake. A paradox that makes it so that the brain can’t process it properly. The sphere guides the magic into separate lanes.” 

“The sphere is like an anchor,” Ellana observed. “It allows me to direct things in one way or another. That’s what those elves were doing with those ritual spots. Moving space and time in certain ways.” 

“Almost like an energy system,” Dagna said coyly. “Or a weapon if you destabilized it suddenly.” 

“Well, we know that the ancient Elvhen were stronger in magic than humans were. Were there more people like me? With these abilities?” Ellana asked before turning towards Solas’ again. “Or you.” 

“I think you might be a modern adaptation. However, I can’t be sure. I wonder…” Solas shook his head, his voice trailing off. 

“There was that crazy paper the other year.” 

“Yes,” Solas said. “The physicist who claimed to have dated the Veil.”

“Dated the Veil?” Ellana asked with a scoff. “I thought there was always a Veil?” 

“Well,” Dagna said, looking uneasily at Solas. “The Shaperate uncovered an old manuscript. Waterlogged, falling apart. It told of when Arlathan fell, and the sky and the ground were made into separate entities. To be more clear, ‘there was now an end where one was not before.’” 

“A physicist argued that explained some of the readings of the Veil.” Solas further explained. “That it was a manufactured force that didn’t correspond to other laws of physics, mostly that it was neither wave nor particle.” 

“The paper was ridiculed,” Dagna chimed in. “It was considered to have the same merit as a conspiracy theory. A fool’s quest.” 

“So our search for the...” Ellana paused. She wasn't sure what Dagna did or didn't know. 

“Orb of Destruction.” Dagna finished for her with a giggle. “I have clearance, don’t worry.” 

“Yes,” Solas said. “It’s possible. The Orb of Destruction might be what caused the Veil to be put into place originally.” 

“So the Fall--it’s not so much about conquest,” Ellana observed. 

“No,” Solas breathed. “It is about an ontological shift.” 

"So what did the Evanurius want with the Orb?" Ellana asked, knowing what the answer might be. 

'To tear down the Veil and restore magic." Solas said. "It's not just about being stronger. It's about reshaping Thedas to conform to what Ancient Arlathan was." 

"Well, that's not good," Dagna said seemingly unphased reaching for one of her homemade cookies. 

  
  



	74. The One Where Solas and Ellana Go On An Actual Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas talks with Leliana. He and Ellana have a night out.

**CHAPTER 74** ****

After Ellana went to campus, Solas had made the reluctant drive north to the Winter Palace. The moment he and Leliana were alone in her basement office, he had taken out the piece of paper left to him in the envelope Mythal had given to Hawen and placed it in front of her.

“Did you tell Ellana?” Leliana immediately asked. Solas knew she was always calculating who was in the know and who was not. Information, to the spymistress, was currency. 

“No, I wanted to. I still want to,” Solas admitted, his hands clasped tensely in his lap. “It is difficult, however, to explain something you don’t entirely understand. Or wholly believe is possible.” 

“I can date the paper,” Leliana shrugged. “Something tells me it's as old as you think it is. There aren’t really records for any of the Evanurius--about where they came from or who they were before.”

“You think Mythal was some sort of immortal being that skipped around time like a garden party?” 

“I’m sorry, didn’t you say that you physically walked through the Fade? Or was that someone else.” 

Solas was voiceless. 

“I was wondering if you might go on one last mission for me.” 

“Other than looking for the orb, you mean?” Solas snapped. “What will it be this time?” 

“Fact-finding mission Arlathan. I think it will draw Andruil out.” 

“You understand I’m banned from the city-state. Unfortunately, many there found the Evanurius inspiring." 

“Good thing you won’t be Solas Fen’Harel.” 

“When?” Solas asked wearily. He was already trying to devise a cover story for his absence. 

“I understand that Dr. Lavellan will be traveling next month to Denerim for a conference. Would that be a good time?” 

“I didn’t realize you were still chatting with Vivienne.” Solas sighed. “Did she tell you about that stunt she pulled with Ellana the other day? I’m not amused.” 

“No, Solas, I’m sorry--” Leliana said. “I’m not speaking to her. What happened?” 

“Apparently, a romantic relationship, consensual or otherwise, is banned between Dr. Lavellan and I on campus, given my so-called supervisory role on the exhibition I initiated.” 

“A little too late for that,” Leliana said, sitting back in her chair. The movement waking one of the sleeping nugs under her desk to snort with distress. "I can't help but think some of that is revenge for whatever is going on between us." 

“Regardless, it's an unnecessary complication in an already difficult and perplexing puzzle. I worry about Ellana as it must feel like one thing after another. She’s at a pivotal time in her career, and this threatens to derail everything.” 

Solas took a deep inhale. This was more information than he usually confided in Leliana. 

“I think you need to give Dr. Lavellan more credit,” Leliana said. “She’s demonstrated that she is persistent if anything else.” 

“I worry.” 

“It’s difficult to stay objective when you’re in love,” Leilana said mournfully. “The Duke is on death’s door. Viv won’t let me near her. I don’t know why. I’m at my wit's end.” 

“I-yes. Leliana, I’m sorry.” 

“It was easier when we were younger. All of this.” 

“All I wanted was justice. Or maybe I thought I knew what that was then? The rebellion of it all was also more straightforward. Now, I only want to keep more bloodshed from happening.” 

“Mercy is harder than justice,” Leliana observed. “Alright, let’s talk about what you’ll do in Arlathan, then maybe we can both retire at the end of the year. I’ll buy a huge fucking cate with that sugary frosting you like, and we’ll have a giant fucking party. Maybe the queen will attend.” 

\---

The waiter brought a bottle of red wine out and poured a glass for Ellana and Solas. His favorite cafe was in the alienage, owned by the same family for the past couple of hundred years, starting from when elves were allowed to open their own businesses legally. It was a simple menu, all cooked in a small kitchen from scratch—a rare blend of elegant yet unfussy. 

For the decade that Solas lived in Val Royeaux, he had come at least once a week. Usually with a stack of work. Never before with a date. The hostess had paused when Ellana walked in with him, his hand on the small of her back to guide her towards his favorite table that overlooked the street. 

“We’ve never gone out to dinner before,” Ellana observed, picking up an ancient paper menu stained with droplets of red wine after softly thanking the waiter. Solas thought her face looked drawn; she had changed into a pair of straight black slacks and a flowy black top, her hair wavy and wild down past her shoulders. 

“You forget our meal at Bon Frites.” Solas chuckled, placing a hand lightly on her thigh under the table, sighing as she leaned into him fully. 

The small round tables were placed tightly together between the old stucco walls lined with black and white pictures of the proprietor’s family posing with celebrities that dined there in the past. Twinkle lights on strings were pinned along the walls. The atmosphere was soft, welcoming. 

“Is this considered traditional alienage cooking?” Ellana asked curiously. “Denerim has a few spots like this, but I was always too poor to eat out there and Minrathous. Well, there isn’t really an alienage.” 

“To the best of my understanding, yes. However, I’m not an expert. I’ve always liked it here. I always thought perhaps my parents lived in one of the ailenages before they moved to be farmers. So I’ve always been interested in city elf culture.” 

“Does that bother you?” Ellana said. “To not know about your family?” 

“When I was younger, but not anymore. I tried to learn more about who they might be, but there aren’t any records, nor do I know their last name. Fen’Harel was my first foster parents' names. They died not long after my fourth birthday. I kept it because they were kind, unlike many of the later families who I stayed with.” 

It was more than he had shared with anyone, even Mythal. There was a darkness over his earliest years that he rarely went to in his mind lest it take him over. The touch of Ellana’s steady hand on his kept it at bay. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up,” Solas said, catching himself. 

“We can talk about it if you like. Your childhood.” 

“Another time,” Solas said, reaching to put an arm around Ellana, who leaned in a bit closer. Her thumb tracing circles on his hand. 

“I miss my parents every day,” Ellana admitted. “I’ve outlived them both. Isn’t that a strange feeling?” 

“Do you wish to have children?” Solas asked without much thought before he realized its gravity, even if it was a topic that one _should_ arguably bring up in a relationship. Solas wondered how many other similar discussions they had put on hold given their unorthodox start. 

“To be honest, I haven’t thought of it much considering my career has never felt stable enough. The Dalish generally have children young, so really, I should have three or four by now. You?” 

“I worry, I’m too old.” Solas laughed while taking a sip of wine. 

“Forty-one?” 

“Almost forty-two.” 

“That’s not too old for men,” Ellana teased. “If you really want children.” 

“I’m not sure, exactly. There are complications right now that I would feel irresponsible bringing any child into. I think it was good, for a long time, that I was alone to bear most of the burden and didn’t have a family to think about.” 

“Ouch,” Ellana said, wrinkling her nose. “A preference I might recommend not sharing on a date.” 

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Solas said, squeezing her hand again. “Might I suggest we put a moratorium on any discussion involving whatever mess most of our lives are right now?” 

“They really are disasters, aren’t they. I don’t want to weep into your shirt in public.” 

To hear Ellana joke brightened Solas a bit. 

“We could pretend this is our first date, if you like.” Solas joked, his eyes widening at the way Ellana bit her lip, shooting him a bemused look. “A perfectly ordinary one. I can even awkwardly suggest what wine you might like.” 

“I’m not sure I have that strong of an imagination, but why not?”

Solas slid his chair abruptly over to the other side of the table. A polite distance that one would expect after just meeting. Ellana laughed as Solas’ took out his reading glasses and peered over the menu with as serious an expression he could muster.” 

“The coq a vin is rather lovely if you haven’t had it before, Dr. Lavellan.” He said, mimicking a sort of nervous staccato that one might expect from a nervous not-quite-boyfriend. 

“Really, Dr. Lavellan?” Ellana laughed. “You wouldn’t call me Ellana?” 

“If you recall,” Solas laughed, pulling his eyeglasses low on his nose, “You insisted on being called as such on more than one occasion.” 

“Well then, Professor Fen’Harel,” Ellana shook her head. “I’m pleased to oblige--to whatever _this_ is.” 

“Our first date, I’m rather tired of hanging out.” Solas set down his menu. 

“Solas, this is ridiculous.” 

“Indulge me,” Solas said. “Or I’ll insist on paying for the whole thing. You hate that.” 

The threat was enough. Surprisingly. 

Ellana did all through dinner, laughing when Solas cajoled her into trying a plate full of buttery escargot. He was pretty sure he spotted her spit the second one out into her napkin and slip it into her purse. The softness in her face returned, the tough exterior melting a bit further when the dancing started after dinner was finished. In a moment, the restaurant had changed to accommodate a violin and piano playing a duet. 

Solas had always left before the dancing started in earnest. Now he had a partner. 

“Come, before the band stops playing dance with me,” Solas demanded with an outstretched hand, helping Ellana up from her chair. The steps were easy, as the songs were historically low and slow to keep from attracting the authorities' attention. 

“You’re right, this is nice,” Ellana said, leaning into his chest, allowing him to tighten his arm around her waist as she wrapped another arm around his neck. Other young couples surrounded them. In recent years, the old alienage traditions had gained new advocates in pop culture. 

Sometime later, a singer appeared in a vintage dress belting out old tunes in a raspy voice—some about heartbreak, most about love. Solas wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. For the first time in a long time, the only thought on his mind the places where their bodies touched. A hazy feeling of serenity Solas had rarely experienced. 

“I was so overcome by you when I ran into you on the quad,” Solas whispered into Ellana’s ear another song later. “The moment I pulled you out of the bush, I was determined to ask you out for coffee that very day. If not here.” 

A rare blush spread across Ellana’s face. Solas could feel her body press more closely to his. Her cheek was flat against his chest, her eyes closed peacefully as he swung them gracefully across the floor. She didn't ask where he learned how to dance that way, and why he had kept it hidden for so long, it was enough to sway across the floor together. 

After splitting the bill, Solas escorted Ellana to walk along the old winding boulevard. It was relaxed except for the Inquisition car that trailed at a respectful distance behind them. He went, out of habit, to take her hand, only for her to rebuff him with a laugh. 

“You would have held hands on--" 

Her words were silenced when Solas cupped her face, drawing her in for a chaste kiss followed by a hungry one that was all desperate tongue. Another one followed on the windy streets, snow fluttering around them. Ellana didn't feel cold anymore. 

"I wanted to do that the moment I met you," he breathed. 


	75. The One Where Ellana Goes to Denerim

**CHAPTER 75**

“This isn’t bad,” Dorian said, throwing his suitcase down with a tired sigh on one of the twin beds covered in bright pink floral bedding in their hotel room. “Has that quaint Fereldan wet sandwich feeling.” 

Ellana had refused to book the gigantic hotel suggested by the conference organizers and found a small weekend rental in the downtown area of Denerim for half the price. Dorian, also trying to save money, had agreed to share a room with her, as their per diem barely covered any of their costs otherwise. The hotel room in question was half the size of Ellana’s studio apartment, with a musty smell and a rundown bathroom. Still, as Dorian had pointed out when they made the booking, they didn’t plan to stay in very much. 

“Wet sandwich?” Ellana giggled. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“You know, because it always is raining here, so all the sandwiches are soggy.” 

Looking outside the hotel window, Ellana confirmed Dorian’s statement. It was pouring. 

A weekend away would be fun with Dorian, Ellana thought. On top of the art conference, the friends had put together a tentative itinerary that included a jaunt to the national museum of art. Dorian had never been, and Ellana was excited to show him some of the artifacts that had ignited the passions of her early studies. Afterward, they’d go on a bus tour of all the old brothels. 

_“Highbrow and lowbrow activities both easier without children,”_ Dorian had claimed. _“I want to get it all in before the kiddos arrive.”_

At the moment, things were not so thrilling. The hour was late. The two had a very uncomfortable plane ride in the back of one of the Inquisition's cargo ships and had landed close to midnight. Driving, according to Leliana, was easy to keep safe. Flying? That was more complicated. 

“I like it here,” Dorian continued as he desperately shoved food into his mouth. “Charming. A little dingy. Almost like the entire city is a dive bar.” 

Dorian had insisted on stopping to buy the potato wedges covered in fresh curry sauce from a late-night street vendor outside their rental. It was probably the most interesting food option in Ferelden. Most cuisine in the rugged country was meat, carbs, and the occasional aromatic stew vegetable.

“It was a fun place to study for undergrad. Although the university is a bit outside of the main town in one of the suburbs. Cassandra and I came here on weekends a few times.” 

“Only a few?” 

“Everything is so expensive! Also, I wasn’t the legal drinking age until I was a junior. I was admitted early, remember. Not much to do in Denerim when you can’t drink.” 

“Such a brainiac,” Dorian teased, handing Ellana a beer bottle wrapped in brown paper. “It took me seven years to graduate, and that was only after my parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t pick something. _Anything._ So I got an art degree in Performance Art.” 

“Your parents might not approve, but I think you’re a wonderful artist,” Ellana said, laying down on one of the twin beds. Her shoes were still on. Her eyes were heavy and threatening to close any moment. “I think your students also are glad you chose art over politics.” 

“I’m not worthy of your compliments,” Dorian twisted his mustache with a wink. “I’m going to call Bull and let him know we landed in one piece. Do you want to use the bathroom first? Or are you going to call your man too?” 

“Perhaps both,” Ellana nodded with a small smile. Pulling her suitcase into the tiny bathroom, she began to unpin her hair. Grabbing her cell phone, she typed a quick message to Solas: 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 1:30 a.m.** **  
** Sorry it is so late--I wanted to let you know we landed. 

Stepping out into the bedroom, Ellana took a quick picture of their curry fries in cute packaging with a mabari hound stamped on the front. 

Ellana brushed her teeth and washed her face, changing into a pair of leggings and her MIT sweatshirt, and crawled into her bed, the mattress rattling. Dorian was outside on the balcony laughing with Bull on the phone. Occasionally she heard a throaty word in qunari. It made her feel a bit jealous to hear how free they were with each other without the burdens that Ellana carried in her relationship. 

Compounding her stress, Ellana wasn’t sure if she should text Solas again. He had been traveling for his own conference in the Anderfels. The messages she received from him were erratic and at odd hours. She didn’t want to keep him up unless it was necessary. 

A sudden buzz of her phone, however, made her hopeful. 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel** **2:13 a.m.** **  
** I wanted to ask but didn’t want to risk waking you. 

Ellana bit back a laugh. She could practically hear Solas’ voice in her head, reading his message to her. The warmth between them returning in a few compact sentences. 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel** **2:15 a.m** **  
** I’m watching a particularly dull news show. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 2:16 a.m.** **  
** Why are you watching it if it is so dull? 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel** **2:17 a.m.** **  
** Most things are dull without you. 

Ellana felt heat rising in her chest. She and Solas had not had very much time to themselves over the last few weeks. More than once, she had slept alone in his empty bed to be a little nearer to him in the distance or feel his arms around her briefly when he came home from a shift in the hospital before she had to leave for campus. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 2:17 a.m.** **  
** A bold statement. 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel** **2:18 a.m** **  
** An accurate one. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 2:19 a.m.** **  
** Sweet talker. 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel** **2:20 a.m** **  
** Careful **,** our “friends” probably read these texts. ‘) 

**xxx.xxx-3454, Solas Fen’Harel** **2:10 a.m** **  
** :’)*

 **xxx-xxx-3245, 2:20 a.m.  
** I should probably say something utterly obscene then. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 2:20 a.m.  
**For their benefit, not yours. 

**xxx-xxx-3245, 2:21 a.m.** **  
** p.s **.** Did you mean ;)?  
\---

“How is Dr. Lavellan?” Leliana asked Solas from across the laminate conference table, the surface of which was covered in detailed maps of Arlathan and fuzzy surveillance photographs. 

The elite spy agency's war council had been meeting for the past three days to play out their upcoming mission in excruciating detail along the Western border of Orlais. Solas couldn’t remember the last time they had slept. He was hopeful he’d steal at least a few fitful hours before deploying into the streets of Arlathan. 

_“A simple, fact-finding mission.”_ Leliana had called it. In reality, it was a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Solas would masquerade as a bard at a dinner party for the Arlathan nobility. Another agent named Felassan, who Solas had worked for before, would accompany him on the lute. If all went well when the mission was finished, they’d have an idea of where Andruil was hiding. Or, more specifically, who was hiding her. 

“She and Professor Pavus landed safely in Denerim.” 

Leliana rolled her eyes. 

“What?” 

“You know I can tell by your face that you are sexting. Do you know that term, sexting?” 

Solas slammed down his phone a little harder than necessary. Leliana’s goading had vexed him, not because it was rude, but because he didn’t think she fully comprehended that all he wanted was for the next forty-eight hours to go as planned, with no bloodshed. He was worried, for the first time he could recall on any mission, that he might not make it to the end. Not because he was afraid of death, but because Solas was terrified he wouldn’t see Ellana again. 

“I am _not,_ as you say, sexting.” 

\---

“Is that the Empress’ chief of staff?” Ellana whispered to Dorian. She recognized the fiery red hair of Briala, who was weaving through the crowd in a hunter green suit. 

The conference was about to begin for the day. The countdown to Ellana’s panel discussion was wearing on her. Over breakfast, she had practiced reading her prepared text to a supportive Dorian for the last time. The exercise had prepared her, if nothing else, to read clearly without laughing if an audience member made ugly faces. 

The friends were standing in a large ballroom filled with kiosks and tables covered in thick academic volumes on any imaginable subject. The design of the patterned carpet stretching across made Ellana dizzy from staring at for too long. She hadn’t been to a conference since the publication of _Fade Objects_. She had forgotten how much she hated loud crowds milling about--some gathering around high-top tables. 

However, this was her favorite out of all the conferences, as it included both scholars and artists. It made the conversations and fashion more dynamic. 

“Oh, yes. She comes every year. The Empress likes to give out grants to emerging scholars and artists. My understanding is that Briala attends to pick out top talent.” 

“I had no idea,” Ellana said. It was difficult for her to reconcile what she knew of the Orlesian government, considering the only parts she had direct experience with were the dark parts that weren’t supposed to exist. 

“Say what you will about Celene, but she is definitely the rare monarch who understands the importance of arts funding.” 

“Dr. Ellana Lavellan,” She heard a voice call to her. Turning, she saw a lean woman with a peckish face looking back at her. Ellana found her peculiar but couldn’t place why. 

The stranger had hair shaved on the sides, and an intricate white blonde braid wound along the crown of her head. The gauzy shirt she wore, made out of small wisps of silk to look like a thousand black and white butterfly wings, moved strangely. It was more like a dark cloud than a fashion statement--or so Ellana thought. 

“Florianne de Chalons, I recognized you from the photograph in your book,” The woman said in a thick Orlesian accent, offering a hand to Ellana, which she took cautiously. 

“A pleasure,” Ellana said with a slight nod. “Thank you for reading my work.” 

“I found it to be a compelling read. Are you presenting today?” 

“Oh, yes.” Ellana stumbled. Truthfully, she was a bit shy at these sorts of functions. “Later this afternoon, actually.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that.” The woman pulled out a metal compact from the inside of her purse and took out a costly business card made out of heavyweight white paper, handing it to Ellana. 

Ellana read her name in letterpressed print. Flipping the card over and spotting a metallic sigil, she suppressed a bit of a gasp, realizing that Florianne was a member of Orlesian royalty. 

“What time?” Florianne said in a voice that was as cold as it was snide. 

“Three, in the main auditorium.” 

“Oh, the place and time everyone wants to present. Well done.” 

\---

“Here is the final checklist,” Leliana said to Solas as a make-up artist was carefully affixing a wig on Solas’ head to make it appear as if he had long purple dreads. A gold clip-on earring followed. 

It was a ridiculous outfit but accurate to the tastes of Arlathan. 

Gazing in the mirror, Solas half-listened as Leliana read out loud. He was more interested in watching himself disappear in the guise of a stranger. The fiction helped him feel at ease with the situation. The eyes, for instance, looking back at him were brown instead of pale blue. After a light dust of powder, his freckles vanished. 

“Were you listening, Solas?” Leliana interrupted. “Or do I need to start from the beginning?” 

Felessan laughed one chair over. His make-up artist had expertly erased the blue lines of his vallaslin with the dab of a make-up sponge. 

\---

“Vivienne, darling,” Dorian cooed at the majestic curator. She was wearing a white sheath dress with iridescent above-the-knee boots. Large pastel purple reading glasses gave her a lofty visage. 

“Oh, Dorian, Ellana, so lovely to see you both here!” She replied, kissing them both on her cheeks. Ellana fought back the impulse to wipe at her face as if Vivienne’s lips had smeared venom on her cheek. 

The conference was about to begin in earnest—panel discussions, including Ellana’s in a few hours, followed by a keynote speaker. 

“Fenris?” Ellana spotted the silver hair of her ex-boyfriend milling amongst the crowd. 

It made sense that he was attending the conference given that he was filming in the area. Ellana had thought to reach out but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Or, more accurately, how to bring up the subject with Solas. 

“La,” He said with a warm smile, walking over and giving her a tight hug. Ellana could feel Vivienne’s eyes on them both. On the surface, the curator’s interest seemed detached, but Ellana knew better. So did Dorian.

“We finally found each other!” The Tevinter artist cried, waving Fenris over and grabbing his arm. “Sorry we left you before breakfast.” 

Fenris shot Ellana an amused look. “No problem.” 

Vivienne looked between Ellana and Fenris, the tapping of her hand on the high-top table in front of them betrayed some confusion. I

t wasn’t usual for Vivienne Le Fer to miscalculate in the great game. Clearly, in this instance, she had. 

“Ellana, I ran into some of our friends from Pauper Ranch. Did you want to say hello to them?” 

\---

  
“It’s good to be working with you again,” Felessan said in his idiosyncratic accent. Solas had never been able to place it before. Now, after dating Ellana, he recognized the guttural twang of Dalish common. 

In a few hours, that, along with Felessan’s _vallaslin_ tattoos, would disappear. They would be nameless bards in archaic costumes performing for the Arlathan elite. 

“I thought you retired?” Solas said politely. He felt like the two spies had this conversation before. 

“The same goes for you.” 

\---

“What was Dorian doing? In front of what’s-her-face? The mean one.” Fenris asked Ellana. They were sitting outside a coffee shop near the conference building. A nondescript chain store where canned music played in the background. Rain pelted against the giant glass windows. 

As they caught up, she felt a distance between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but a new dynamic she wasn’t sure how to wrestle with or what subjects were appropriate to confide in her ex. 

“There have been complications,” Ellana admitted. “More than I can count, but I’m afraid that I’m not having a great semester. Vivienne has been targeting me, and my department is vicious. They don’t think I can speak Orlesian, so they say the most aggressive things.” 

“Oh, La.” 

“This might be awkward--” 

“--You know we’re cool right,” The artist said, slinking down in his seat, putting a hand up with a small wave. 

“Thank you,” Ellana replied. “There is a university rule in place that prohibits senior-level faculty members from romantic relationships with lower-level faculty they have supervisory roles over.” 

She didn’t expand, knowing that Fenris could put the pieces together. 

“He’s a neurologist.” 

“Yes, but the exhibition.” 

“That’s shit.” 

“I know, but I think Dorian didn’t want Vivienne to think there had been a change in my love life? I’m not sure. I mean, surely she knows I’m dating Solas, or otherwise she wouldn’t have threatened me? I’ve speculated a lot but--”

“She threatened your job? That’s low.” 

“I don’t think I’ll stay in Val Royeaux, Fen. It’s killing me to have worked this hard for it all to end up so badly, but It’s not going to help my career to stay here constantly on edge.” 

“You can move back to the ranch, if you need to, rent-free,” Fenris said. “I had plumbing put in and electricity.” 

“Now, that might be the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard from your mouth.” 

Fenris gave a gruff laugh. 

“We should get back for your panel presentation.” 

“Oh, Creators, I’m so nervous. Why are you here? You hate these things.” 

“It was part of my residency.” Fenris shrugged, “There are some other artists I got to meet.” 

“Oh, right.” 

“Don’t you hate these things too? Especially when everyone is going to be coming up to you to ask a ton of questions.” 

“No one is going to ask me any questions.” 

\---

Arlathan parties started early in the afternoon. They weren’t so many parties, but bacchanalias held in richly painted rooms that mimicked Ancient Elvhen design. The room where Solas found himself singing in low Elvhen was covered in rich mosaics of a hunting scene. A wolf stalked a herd of halla on one wall. If his eyes followed along, a bear caught a fish out of water around the perimeter and then a fox catching a snake in its red paws. 

Simple stories with great meanings. Or so Mythal would have told Solas. 

Elves in white aprons carried trays of champagne in delicate coupes with rose gold rims. 

He recognized a few of the attendees from Mythal’s earlier gatherings. They looked older now. Some stooped over in age, while others had more wrinkles. A woman with elaborate black braids he once spent the night with walked past without a glance in his direction. 

Ghosts of his past. 

A chilling laugh woke him to full attention. Skimming the room without breaking off his song, he saw Andruil lounging on one of the chaises with a few bedraggled humans in shackles at her feet. He recognized the plaintive stare of Gereon Alexius. The magister was dressed in jester garb, white paint poorly covering the bruises along his face

Occasionally, Andruil would get bored and tug a chain around Alexius’ neck, tightening it until he let out a raspy cry. 

\---

“That was amazing,” Dorian said to Ellana when she stepped down from the stage into the seating area. “You stole the show.” 

Ellana was having a hard time having her heart rate come down. Speaking in front of large crowds had always made her feel nervous, and despite all of her experience, she always felt like an automated robot when she sat on stage. 

“Wow, La,” Fenris agreed. “That was great.” 

Fenris had stayed for her discussion. It was the polite thing, after all. A few times, Ellana had found him in the front row, looking back at her with an encouraging nod, particularly when the question and answer session began. It was unexpected, but all of the attendees were interested in _Fade Objects_ alone, ignoring the other speakers. 

It had started with an interrogation. _“What did Dr. Lavellan have to say about the article Professor Fen’Harel put out regarding her research?”_ followed immediately by _“Did you falsify your findings?”_

The first answer was easy for Ellana, pointing out that she and Solas were working on an exhibition together as a way to work through their collegiate disagreements. The second was harder, especially with the more recent understanding of how her magic worked. So she strategically fell on her sword, acknowledging that most of her travels in the Fade were speculative--a fact acknowledged several times in her preface--but that careful empirical research backed up her claims of what the ancient elves were making and thinking. 

_“The important thing,”_ Ellana argued, “ _is that this scholarship opens up the art historical canon to explore the lingering and longstanding effects that the elves had on Thedas. A question neglected by almost every other source.”_

“A drink?” A voice interrupted behind her. Ellana turned to see Florianne. 

\---

“Dread Wolf,” A voice called to Solas. _Her voice._

Solas kept walking down the stairway, ignoring Andruil’s summons. He was about to Fade step out through the garden when he felt her red nails digging into his arms. 

It had been difficult, but Solas had watched while Andruil beat her human prisoners--much to the amusement of her guests who took part. 

Felessan was securing the grounds, placing hidden microphones, and other gadgets. Until that moment, Solas had thought their mission had been a success. 

“I only wish to talk,” she said in a calm voice. Solas had learned to recognize her unpredictable moods over the years. He knew that when Andruil’s face was that placid and cold, as it was at that very moment, that she was at her most dangerous. 

“Civilly,” Andruil repeated. 

“I can’t imagine what we would talk about,” Solas stalled as he watched the sky for the fireworks to appear. A sign that the extraction team was ready to pick him up. 

“Our history, perhaps.” 

Solas’ body snapped into action. A quick move and one strong hand grabbed Andruil by the throat, pulsating with mana. The other, pulling her hair, so she was crawling in front of him on her knees. 

“Solas,” Andruil choked, “She’ll die if you kill me. I have her in Denerim.” 

“Speak,” Solas demanded as he loosened his grip a bit on her throat, jerking her head to look up at him. 

“Let me go, and I’ll let her go.”

Solas struggled for a moment before releasing Andruil with a swift kick. 

\---

The bustle of the conference increased as the bar opened for the happy hour before the keynote address. 

Small groups were forming around the high tops. It was easy to tell artists from scholars, as some of the more creative types had forgone furniture entirely, sitting cross-legged on the floor double fisting the free liquor. Ellana had waved politely to a few of the academics she had met over the past day. Spotting one of her colleagues from the University, she waved again, only to receive a sneer in return. 

“What a sour woman, “ Florianne observed wryly. She took a sip from her gin and tonic, placing the glass down again. “That’s the face of jealousy. I expect most of your colleagues must feel that way about you.” 

“Oh, no,” Ellana deflected. “ _Fade Objects_ is a small step. There is so much work to be done regarding early elven works. Surely, there is room for many academics to contribute to such discourse.” 

She did not like Florianne. 

“I saw Briala slinking around earlier like a foul cat. I’m sure she’ll offer you one of the grants from the crown. My cousin, her royal majesty, likes to play this game with young academics like you. It makes it easier to steal their research. Surely, you’re already aware of such things, though, given your proximity to Solas Fen’Harel.” 

“I’m not sure of your meaning,” Ellana replied, stiffening. She began to trace the edge of her wine glass nervously. 

“Oh, don’t be coy--the nightingale’s pet. She has him running around all of Thedas. And why write that pithy little polemic? It’s so hard to tell friend from foe when the Inquisition is involved. Where is the fine doctor right now? I hear he’s in Arlathan dredging up old wounds.” 

Ellana was silent. She could feel her heart pound. Solas couldn’t be in Arlathan. Could he? 

“Oh. You didn’t know that.” Florianne said with a cruel smile. “I shouldn’t have said anything. After all, we both don’t want your mission to fail.” 

“Do we both want that?” Ellana asked tensely. She couldn’t tell what Florianne de Chalons wanted with her--or how she knew about the Orb, but any explanation was surely sinister. 

Before Florianne could answer, a loud chime played in the background summoning the conference for the keynote speaker. Ellana could overhear some excited rumblings for the talk on the Saarebas armor and mage craft. 

“Please excuse me. I should go to the restroom.” Ellana said gracefully. “I’m more than happy to speak again after the keynote. I have your card? I’ll send you a text.” 

Not waiting for a reply, Ellana practically ran to the nearest bathroom. She looked underneath the stalls, confirming that she was alone before washing her hands in the sink, followed by a splash of cold water on her face. 

A few deep breaths.

Taking out her phone, Ellana was about to dial Blackwall when there was a sudden flash out of the corner of her eye. Working out of instinct, Ellana began to call a spell to her hands, but a sharp jab in her shoulder made her collapse in pain.

It was as if fire was racing through her circulatory system. 

She tried to fight it. Stepping backward, she tried to summon another spell--any spell. 

She took another step back. Blurs of masked figures stared at her as her body wobbled. 

Another jab in her lower back paralyzed her further. 

A loud smack echoed out in the washroom as Ellana hit her forehead on the granite countertop. One moment she was awake, the next everything went black. 


	76. The One Where Solas and Leliana Spat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture, police violence, some mentions of Dorian's past daliances.

**CHAPTER 76**

After releasing Andruil, Solas had scurried into the night like a beetle. Felassan followed not far behind. For a brief moment, Solas caught a glimpse of the city where he had once dined and ignorantly partaken of the pageantry. The white spires, a poor representation of what had been, glimmered in the dwindling sun. A panoramic view ended by a rushed jump into the cold water, magic hastening a swim downstream underneath the city gates. 

Running through the forest, an unmarked car waited for them and sped away as soon as they hopped into the open doors. 

Leliana had confirmed Andruil’s threats to him after he had arrived on the tarmac. _“Disappeared after her presentation, along with Professor Pavos. Briala is at the scene trying--as ineffectually as always--to get a handle on things.”_

The overnight flight from Arlathan to Denerim was almost eight hours. The edge of Andruil’s words had cut into him like a rusted sword. Ellana had been taken, and he was helpless to do anything to save her until they landed in Ferelden. 

Solas felt like he was crashing back into his life as he changed out of his bard costume. 

The tailored suit he usually found comfortable chafed at him. From the other side of the cabin, Leliana had watched him nervously. Solas wasn’t sure why. He was sitting quietly staring out the window, his hands folded on his lap. 

If he had been a religious man, he would have called what he was doing prayer. Instead, he was simply repeating three simple words over and over again in his head with as much willpower as he could muster: _keep her safe._

As the information trickled in, things went from bad to worse. 

“You’re telling me that Florianne de Chalons is a mole?” Solas cocked his head with disbelief. If his magic hadn’t been nearly exhausted from his recent brush with Andruil, he might have blown a lightbulb with his rageful mana; he was so infuriated.

According to Leliana, Florianne had followed Ellana into a bathroom. Security footage showed them entering but not exiting. Not five minutes later, Dorian had gone down the same hallway from the main auditorium and disappeared as well. 

“It was a surprise,” Leliana admitted. “Even to Gaspard, her brother. He’s making his mea culpa to Celene right now.” 

“Why was she at an arts conference?”

“You didn’t hear? She’s recently enrolled in a graduate program to study; thought she would work on inventorying the Crown’s collection. Another whim. Kidnapping Ellana was easy, so she did.” 

Solas could recall several late-night sessions where he cautioned Leliana not to trust the cunning noble. Florianne de Chalons had always appeared to have the worst combination of entitlement and fickleness made for bad leadership. The lackluster noble had neither the mind of her brother nor the diplomatic prowess of her cousin. 

“So she thought that Arlathan support would do what exactly? Give her the crown?” 

“Ostensibly.” 

“You’re losing your touch, Nightingale,” Solas snarled, imbuing each of his words with as much cruelty as possible. It was easier to be unkind than to be helpless. “This is on you.” 

“Solas, this is a--”

“Don’t play me again.” The words tumbling out surprised even him. An idea he had been mulling over in the deepest recesses of his brain split open on his lips.  
“What are you talking about?” Leliana raised her hands in protest. 

“What were you thinking dangling me in front of Andruil? It’s like juggling with landmines.” 

The bar cart next to Leliana began to shake wildly. Canisters and glass rattled inside the cabinet. If the doors had been open, thousands of splinters would have been flung out into the open air. 

“Enough, Solas, please, you’ll disrupt the plane engine.” Leliana shook her head in a kind voice. For a moment, Solas felt as if he were talking to a Chantry sister breaking bad news, not a spymistress. 

Sitting back in his chair, he studied Leliana’s face closely. Pale skin and red hair cut to chin length. Solas had watched her use her endearingly innocent appearance to enable sinister ends. She had gained her reputation, not from acts of obvious cruelty that she was more than capable of, but for how she lured criminals in with her mellifluous voice--only to sink a knife in their unsuspecting gut. 

This time, Solas was the sucker. 

“You wanted Andruil to catch me.” 

“I knew you’d escape.” Leliana said, her expression sorrowful. “It was...I’m _sorry._ We were going to get you out.” 

“You wanted more control of this search,” Solas began to muse. “I should have seen it before…” 

“Solas, we are friends...” 

“That’s what Felassan was there for, to track me afterward back to wherever she brought me.” 

Leliana’s purple eyes blinked slowly. Her single tell. 

“Only I wasn’t captured. You didn’t guess that Andruil would try and barter or that she would have kidnapped Ellana.” 

“No, you weren’t captured.” 

Solas was not an individual prone to anger. A threat on his life, however, made what he said next seemed fair in his rage. 

“You listen to me,” Solas growled. “If any harm comes as a result of this, I will personally bring you to Andruil as an offering for her human menagerie.”

Leliana’s face froze. An uncomfortable silence erupting at his threat. 

“By the way, I know where Gereon Alexius ended up.” Solas continued, “You will be close friends if this isn’t resolved.” 

“We were going to get you out. There was a plan to save you, only if you knew about it--” 

“What? I wouldn’t have gone. You’re absolutely correct.” 

\---

Ellana awoke in a dark room. Fitting back the instinctual jerk of her body, she counted her breaths as best as she could to calm herself. She tried to reach up to a damp spot on her forehead but found that she could not move. Rope around her wrists and ankles abraded her skin. 

A deep inhale, and then exhale, and Ellana could begin to pick apart her surroundings like a painting. At first, Ellana thought she was suspended in complete darkness. Blinking her eyes, she felt the thin fabric wrapped securely around her eyes. A swish of her tongue revealed a tight gag. 

Where could she be? Her body was contorted like a sardine in a can into a small space. Rough fabric scratched her nose as she squirmed about in the cramped chamber. A musty smell like mothballs overwhelmed her.

Was she in a coat closet? 

In the adjacent room, she could hear low whispers. At first, the words were garbled. As Ellana concentrated on the cadence, however, she quickly made the smooth inflections of Tevene. _Was she in Tevinter?_

“We can trade the elf for our hostage. The magister’s son will fetch a good ransom.”

 _Dorian?_ Ellana thought to herself. If she could get free and find him, that might give them the upper hand. Two mages would always do better than one in an escape attempt. Closing her eyes, she attempted to count the different voices. Some were more high-pitched, uncertain than others. About half a dozen or so, all men. _Typical._

“How much longer will the red lyrium last?” A gruff voice asked in common. 

A woman’s voice answered. Ellana recognized the accent of Florianne de Chalon’s. “A few more hours. I have enough for one more dose for both of them. I didn’t expect for two hostages, but we can make due.” 

_So she was still in Denerim. That was lucky._ The words red lyrium tripped her up. Ellana had a foggy recollection of learning about the illegal chemical. A highly toxic substance could be used to suppress a mage’s ability to cast magic, but the cost was high. If that was what had been injected into her twice, she was lucky not to be dead. 

Clenching her eyes again, Ellana thought to call up a spell. Barrier, at the very least. A lump in her throat formed instead. She might well as be left naked in a snowstorm. 

“The Bowmistress wants her to bargain with that bald elf we fought within Minrathous.” She could hear another male voice comment in Tevene. _Bald elf?_ Did they mean Solas? Why would he have enemies in Minrathous? On top of that, Ellana wasn’t sure who the bowmistress would be. 

“We should have them out of the city by morning.” Florianne breathed. “We’ll go through the sewers considering that the Grey Wardens are circling overhead and are screening cars at the city’s borders.” 

How was Ellana going to escape this mess in time? 

\---

Briala was waiting for Solas at the tarmac in a large armored vehicle.The Chief of Staff was precariously sipping on a cup of coffee as she drove. The two exchanged a curt nod as Solas slunk down into the passenger seat. 

“Andraste's tits, you look like shit.” Briala said with an amused smile. “You know, she’s the worst kind of zealot. I know what she tried to pull in Arlathan.” 

Solas rubbed his hands self-consciously over the stubble of his unshaved jaw. 

“The Nightingale?” 

“She believes her job is divine intervention. That soft side that Celene is fond of? Always a ploy. Last year she attempted to blackmail me into giving her more information on her royal highness. If it weren’t for her relationship with the Divine, she’d be out of the Inquisition. Certainly not so close to the top.” 

Solas knew Briala was nowhere near as innocent as her words implied. Despite her rumored romance with Celene, Briala had been playing both warring sides of the empress and her cousin, Gaspard, against one another, collecting intelligence on both and using it as a distraction to push through her own social policies in Celene’s name. 

Leliana had simply wanted to end the dispute when Gaspard threatened to start an uprising. The standoff had resulted in a cold war between the two spy mistresses. Solas hadn’t kept up with who had more leverage. That had been a mistake. 

“Do you have any new information on Dr. Lavellan or Professor Pavus' whereabouts?” 

“I’m holding a silver-headed elf in the precinct, strange markings all over his face. He was with them there. Last one to see them. Not very forthcoming, though.” 

Solas’ face fell as he realized who she was talking about. 

“By the name of Fenris?” 

“Yes, a friend of Dr. Lavellan’s, I believe. A very special former friend if my intelligence is correct. He was the last one to see Professor Pavus.” 

“The Nightingale didn’t tell me that Fenris was present,” Solas admitted. 

“Neither did Dr. Lavellan, judging by your expression.” 

\---

It had been difficult for Ellana to stay awake. The red lyrium flowing through her system had cut her off from the Fade, leading to that were alternating experiences of black void rather than dreams. Her eyes fluttered open as hands pulled her out of the closet. 

Ellana had fought to stay calm when her kidnappers pulled her out of the closet. Roughly, she had been hoisted onto someone’s shoulder. At first, she had squirmed, only to receive a rough slap on her face silencing her protest. 

“That’s enough,” Florianne de Chalons’ cold voice commanded in common. 

Ellana hurtled to the ground. A cracking sound reverberated as the whole weight of her body landed on her wrist. It would have been a relief to scream, but the gag cruelly prevented it. Cold hands touched her face. Expecting another slap, Ellana grimaced as light flooded her eyes, the blindfold coming away to reveal the face of Florianne. A wicked glint in her eye made Ellana nervous. She wanted to move away, but the ropes prevented her from doing so. 

“My vint friends want to test your magic.” The blonde woman whispered in Orlesian, tracing a finger down Ellana’s nose as if he were a child. “I caught them in the next-door room. They had so many sharp silver tools out ready to peel your skin off.” 

Ellana began to tremble as she pictured the old Tevinter manuscripts of experiments on elven slaves. Her heart was pounding as she tried to call her magic up again.

Only for it to fail. 

“They say you’re special,” Florianne said, pinching her nose until Ellana began to asphyxiate. A retching sound erupting from her lips as she struggled to gasp for air through the gag. Just as Ellana thought her brain might explode, another sharp pain exploded in her body as Florianne yanked her hair and dragged Ellana across the floor towards the closet. 

Relieved to go back, unmolested to the closet, Ellana was face first on the ground when the Orlesian noble stomped her foot down on her wrist before storming off into another room. 

_“How history repeats itself,”_ Ellana thought mournfully. 

\---

Solas walked into one of the interrogation rooms in the police precinct. Fenris had been handcuffed to one of the chairs. The Denerim police had detained the artist after learning that he was the last person to see Dorian before disappearing. Long skeptical of authority, Fenris had resisted, hurling his fist at one of the officers before a group wrestled him to the ground. 

It had not been pleasant for Solas to watch the footage of Fenris following after Dorian and Ellana. His screams had attracted Blackwall, who tottered into the conference hall with a plainclothes Templar force. 

“I wanted to personally apologize for this,” Solas said, brushing mana over the mechanical lock, loosening it so that the restraints slid off, clattering to the ground. “We both know that you didn’t have anything to do with Ellana or Dorian’s kidnapping. You lack the inclination and the capabilities, even if the Denerim police are convinced otherwise.” 

“Thanks, I think,” Fenris replied gruffly. “Look, I ran into La and Dorian at the conference that morning. It wasn’t planned.” 

“I understand. Or am trying to.”

“I want us to be cool,” Fenris said gruffly, taking out a carton of cigarettes from a hidden pocket of his jacket, his hands trembling., “And also to have a cigarette.” 

Solas watched as Fenris woefully searched his pockets. “Fuck, they took my lighter.” 

Solas's snap of his fingers produced a small flame leaning over for Fenris to light up. The smell of smoke filling the room. 

“Sorry, I can’t think when I have nicotine withdrawal.” Fenris shook his head, “Ellana went to get a drink with that blonde chick. Dorian and I went and snagged seats for the keynote. I stayed while Dorian went to go find La.” 

“That’s on the surveillance footage,” Solas confirmed. “I was hoping you might have some more insight. Did anything seem off to you? A feeling even?” 

Fenris frowned. Leaning back in his chair, deep in thought. 

“The blonde woman smelled like rotten eggs or gunpowder. Also, I couldn’t be near her. I thought she was a mage, but the ringing was different. It was hard to tell since La was nearby what was causing it, so I didn’t pay much attention.” 

“Ringing?” 

“My markings aren’t tattoos. I’m assuming La told you? Lyrium. I can feel magic. In my skin. Can feel yours right now.” 

“Yes, I’m sorry...” 

“That blonde chick--”

“Florianne.” 

“Whatever. There was this foul energy around her. Made me gag a bit.” 

\---

Ellana had stopped shaking. 

Finally. 

The gruesome pain in her body had subsided. Florianne burst in every so often, sometimes to adjust Ellana’s bindings, other times, to abuse her. Ellana had been spit on, threatened, and beaten. Another kick to her injured wrist had nearly broken her stoic resolve. 

The thrashings were made worse by the passing time Ellana spent face down on the dirty floor, in and out of dreamless sleep. 

The sound of the door creaking open startled her to full alert. Expecting another visit from Florianne--or another attempt by the Venatori to take her to do creators-knew-what, she instinctively winced. 

Instead, she was pleased to hear Dorian Pavus yelling at the top of his lungs. 

“My husband is going to arrive any moment. Ex-Ben Hassarath. Qunari. Can snap you all like twigs.” 

She waited before she heard the steps leaving the room to turn over. The gag prevented her from talking. She could feel two wet tears streaming down her face when Dorian unexpectedly sat up, his hands unbound. 

Gently, he pulled himself forward. “I worked in an Antivan BDSM club between semesters once. Learned all sorts of nifty tricks. I also happened to be wearing a lapel pin and did some bending. I’ll tell you later.” 

Dorian unloosed the gag first as he swiftly worked on the other knots. As he drew near, Ellana could smell stale vomit, fighting back a dry-heave. 

“I was really sick--” Dorian explained. “I don’t know--” 

“They injected us with red lyrium,” Ellana muttered as she caught her breath. Looking up, she saw that Dorian’s distressed button-down was soiled with dried yellow patches. His usually tan skin was pale, obviously so, even in the dim lighting. He needed to go to a hospital. 

“Explains why I can’t cast magic. Can you?” 

Ellana shook her head. 

“We better hurry before they try and move us. I got a glimpse of the outdoors, and its nearly nightfall.”

“They want to bring us through the sewers,” Ellana sighed as Dorian. 

It felt good to move again, but she wobbled as she tried to stand. Grabbing the leg of a table, she pulled herself up, getting a full view of the space for the first time. Boxes and debris covered the ground filled with miscellaneous metal shards and half-filled bottles of alcohol. 

“This must have been some sort of metal shop? An antique shop?” Dorian was pointing to the boxes of weird metal shapes that Ellaan thought looked like unfinished pieces of armor. 

“It’s a foundry. Which makes sense given that red lyrium is highly unstable. You could store it like acid used for etching--” 

“Ugh. I love you, my nug princess.” 

Ellana limped forward, doing her best to ignore the throbbing of her wrist as she clutched it to her chest. Kneeling, she found a box of fabric scraps. Scanning the table, she saw a lighter next to an empty pack of cigarettes. 

“Dorian, I think I have a plan.” 

\---

“Ok, boys,” Briala said as she paced around the perimeter of the room like a cat stalking its prey. “We’ve got the security footage, knowledge of the perpetrator, and a couple of hunches. What sticks out?” 

Solas had never worked with the Chief of Staff on the mission before. Although he didn’t trust the red-headed elf, he admired her straightforward approach after spending a cloying few hours with—Leliana, who had sulked back to Val Royeaux as soon as they had landed. 

“How do we know that they are still in the city?” Fenris asked. 

“We’ve set-up blockades,” Briala said absently with her hands tucked behind her back. “Florianne isn’t exactly subtle or smart. She’s probably going to try and do something stupid like bring them through the sewers.” 

“Here, I thought my spy shit days were over,” Bull said, pulling on a pair of reading glasses over his eye patch. Solas had enlisted the help of the qunari right away, given his past work as a Ben Hassrath spy. 

“I’m recruiting if you’re done with rugby,” Briala said with a wicked grin as she picked up her ringing cell phone. 

“Who are you working with? I’ve seen some Grey Warden tactics? The Crows wouldn’t work with the Crown outright.” Bull whispered to Solas as Briala began to scream in Orlesian fiercely. 

“The important thing is that we find Ellana and Dorian,” Solas said. He didn’t feel like now was the time to confess to Bull the extent of his “spy shit.” The Inquisition was a secret even to its own members. 

“Fenris, you said something about the smell of gunpowder and nausea?” Bull continued calmly. The silver-haired artist was sitting cross-armed chain-smoking. 

“My lyrium markings, it was like they were melting out of my skin.” 

“Red Lyrium?” Bull guessed, expectantly gazing back at Solas, who confirmed the qunari’s hypothesis with a nod. “It would explain why neither Ellana or Dorian cast a spell at the conference center. Not even a blast.” 

The rare substance was illegal. A small dose could render a mage unable to use their magic, but the chemical would eat away at their body. It was also highly unstable, prone to explode if uncontrolled. 

“The Venatori are smuggling it now,” Briala confirmed over her shoulder, pausing her screaming into the phone. “It’s possible.” 

“Venatori,” Solas said, aware of Fenris watching him carefully. “In Ferelden?” 

The elusive cult was composed of Tevinter nationalists who rarely left the borders of the country. 

Briala shrugged. 

“Red Lyrium is highly unstable, even in small volumes. So you’d need to be out at the city edge to store it and nearby to bring it to the conference.” Bull said carefully, studying the schematics of the city. “The good news is there’s only a few areas of the city where one could plausibly store a supply without attracting notice.” 

“How sensitive are your markings?” Solas asked a reticent Fenris, who shrugged. 

“I’ve never tested them out.” 

“Still worth a shot. There isn't another way to trace it except by fall out.” Briala said as Bull hummed in agreement. “I think our best luck is to split up troops to search the areas I’ve outlined on the map. 

“Alright, so we narrow down the possible locations, and then Fenris can tell us if we’re on the right track?” Bull said. “I guess it's all we have to go on right now.”

Solas was about to leave with Fenris and Bull when Briala whispered him over. 

“I’m not worried about finding Dr. Lavellan. This whole thing has been sloppy. I’m more worried about getting to her in time before Florianne does something erratic. We can’t trap her, or she’ll do something stupid.” 

“I know.” 

Solas turned to exit the room again when Briala called him a last time. 

“When this is over, you and I are going to have a long chat about the Nightengale, elf-to-elf.” 


	77. The One Where Dorian Does Some Performance Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Dorian hatch a plan. Solas grudgingly bonds with Fenris. A special guest emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence up a head. (I'm trying to be generous with TW, think this is kind of tame, but hey, never hurts).

**CHAPTER 77**

“If we were playing a video game, I’d ask you to turn the friendly fire option on.” Dorian proclaimed sarcastically as Ellana laced threads of fabric into one of the alcohol bottles with one hand. She had enough supplies for a handful of improvised bombs. Ellana wasn’t positive that the bottles she had crafted would cause any explosions. However, she’d settle for a thick blanket of smoke to conceal their escape route. 

“If this were a video game, I would tell you to keep the soiled shirt on for a stats boost.” 

At first they had thought to go down the stairs and out into the street. Only a cautionary glance at the outside hallway, had led Dorian and Ellana to speedily change their route and think to head towards the roof. Given that all the buildings in Denerim were linked by an intricate fire escape system, they’d flee up to the top floor and hop over to another building, and then down if possible. 

Gravity would maximize the small cache of incendiary devices, giving them a defensive edge as they fled upwards. 

“I’m glad this whole terrible situation hasn’t killed your ability to entertain me.” Dorian said as he smeared inky grease on his bare skin. Next he’d fit discarded pauldrons on his shoulders, followed by a rusty helm that obscured his face. 

Ellana and Dorian had worked diligently to make a plan, powered by instinct and adrenaline. 

Who knew when Florianne or her lackeys would return? 

“Besides,” Ellana said absently. “I think we should still be worried about the area of effect, because _physics._ ” 

“Do you think they’ll fall for it?” Dorian swayed his hips seductively. Although Ellana had never seen one of the artist’s performances in-person, she saw nods to his practice in the way Dorian had applied rough glyphs to his arms and chest. It wasn’t wholly convincing, but with the sky darkening the effect would be frightening. 

“When was the last time anyone saw a desire demon? Besides the chains hanging from your nipple piercings are rather persuasive.” 

“Thank you.” Dorian preened, shaking his chest before a complex stretching routine. 

“It only needs to startle them enough to think one of us was possessed.” 

Ellana and Dorian had taken netting and what appeared to be small metal jacks used in medieval warfare to cripple incoming infantry units, scattering them behind where Dorian would “manifest.” The idea was to trip their assailants and then flee out of the room. 

Ellana was looking for a crate or something else to carry her makeshift ballistics when she saw a large sheet of metal emblazoned with a crest shaped like the sun propped up behind some rubble. Her palm tingled as she ran her hand over the smooth surface. 

“Creators, it is!” Ellana exclaimed softly. “I saw one in a museum once.” 

“What?” 

“A Templar shield. We can project magic back at anyone that fires at us. Do you think you can carry it?” 

Dorian moved over to the door, picking up what looked to be a very heavy piece of war equipment. “Kaffas, that’s craftsmanship, it’s light as a feather.”

“It wasn’t used to parry blows, just repel magic.” 

“And whoever said Art History degrees were useless!” 

\---

Solas was about to climb into one of the large armored vehicles when a man in jeans and a leather jacket greeted him outside the precinct. “Solas! It’s been too long, I wanted to come and help.” 

Solas gave a weak chuckle, trying not to bristle as Allistair, the King of Ferelden, pulled him into a deep embrace. 

“Thank you.” He replied succinctly when he drew back. “I appreciate all that you’ve done so far.” 

Solas had always liked Allistair. Before he took the Crown they had met during the King’s Grey Warden training. At the time he had been third in line to the crown--a bastard heir, intent on finding a job. When a car bomb had killed his father and half-brother, a desperate parliament had confirmed Allistair thinking he'd be a malleable ruler.

Instead, Allistair had proven to be an adept monarch with a caring heart, initiating many reforms of the social safety net. Solas hadn’t been surprised when he’d liberated the Dalish reservations or initiated universal health care. 

“Want me to drive you and--?” The king held up a set of car keys, his voice trailing off when he spotted a disgruntled looking Fenris who was wearily hunched over a cigarette. “Your friend…?” 

“Fenris,” the elf introduced himself, reaching out a hand “Nice to meet you--”

“That would be generous, King Allistair.” Solas replied by way of offering a clue to the unknowing artist. 

“Your royal...majesty.” Fenris stiffly said with a short bow.

“Andraste’s ass. No bowing! Tonight I am a lowly grey warden lending a hand.” Allistair reprimanded with a grin. “Although you have to get me back in one piece or Neria is going to flip a shit.” 

Solas knew about the King’s mistress, Neria Surana--some sort of television star--from the tabloid magazines that sprinkled the hospital waiting room. The ongoing scandal was not his lover’s connection to the film industry, but that she was an elf. 

_If only the press knew about Briala._ Solas mused looking to his left where the Chief of Staff was barking orders with a menacing Bull standing next to her, arms crossed, with a small arsenal of sniper weapons strapped to his back. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and to take you away from regular business.” 

“I’ve been wanting to nail the Orlesian crown for something like this for the last decade. You should have heard Celene on the phone. Finally backed down on a few trade disagreements. If we can catch Florinne, the extradition process is definitely going to be great. Wait, don’t tell the Orlesians that.” 

“Of course,” Solas said with a generous chuckle. 

As the King slapped Solas on the back, he caught a glance of Fenris’ distaste mellowing a bit. It helped, Solas thought, for the artist to see him in a more jovial setting. Although Solas wasn’t entirely sure why he thought that, or if he cared. 

“I’ve got some elite royal guards searching some of the known trouble spots in the city your Qunari associate identified.You can hear the airplanes overhead.” Allistair said pointing up towards the sky. Solas counted five or more low-hanging planes. A generous amount. 

“What does the populace think took place?” Solas said once they were all sitting in the car. 

“Well, the good news is we didn’t have to lie about the Venatori. Even Tevinter is condemning them. Who would have thought? A little pretend burglary, secrets of the state, all that--and we’re all good.” 

“What did the Venatori rob?” Solas couldn’t help his curiosity.

“The royal mabari kennel, of course. What else would necessitate such an aggressive response?” 

Even Fenris laughed. 

**\---**

Ellana began to scream. A small gust of air erupted first, followed by frantic shrieks that escalated from satirical to bone-chilling in a matter of seconds. It was an easy performance given the amount of panic she had suppressed in the span of her imprisonment. 

They didn’t have to wait long to hear the pounding of feet on the wooden stairs. 

Dorian summoned a howling noise by swinging an empty pipe. Jumping up, he spun in a circle like a figure skater, his arms outstretched. Exuberantly leaping, Dorian stretched in a way that gave him the appearance of floating over the ground. His toned muscles catching the moonlight filtering through the greasy windows looked ethereal, in a way, amplifying the masquerade. 

“Kaffas, it’s a demon!” One of the Venatori yowled, cowering to throw a magical projectile which Dorian adeptly dodged. Another followed. Dorian did a high kick forward, knocking the group of Tevinter mages towards the exterior wall. Ellana cheered as they crumpled to the ground like broken glass. 

A few more mages poured in. No longer blindfolded, Ellana couldn’t help but notice how strangely dressed her captors wore, wearing white velvet hoods with comical peaks. Masks fashioned out of gold netting hid their identities. Rallying to full attention, Ellana took up the net in her able hand, and with a reserve of strength she didn’t know she had, threw it on top of them. 

Dorian nudged Ellana out through the doorway, adeptly positioning the shield, for another round of magical projectiles that repealed straight back in the mages’ startled faces. 

Wasting no more time, Ellana fiddled with the lighter, trying to ignite the towel. Working one handed was difficult however and the container started slipping through her fingers once she was able to light it. 

“Kaffas, throw it Ellana!” Dorian cried as more footsteps approached. 

Ellana barely was able to hurl the sparkling missile in time. A large crash followed by Tevene curses confirmed that it had landed somewhat close to their desired target. Snatching up the bin of bombs, she and Dorian bounded up the rickety staircase. 

**\---**

Allistair had pulled over to a stretch of desolate buildings in the former ailenage. No longer occupied, the rundown wooden townhouses were more like shells than homes. Fenris had walked the length of the street, but felt nothing, shaking his head at an anxious Solas who waited outside of the car, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. 

“She’ll be ok.” Fenris said to Solas in a considerate soft voice as they slid into the car. “She’s resilient.” 

“Red Lyrium is unstable and highly toxic.” Solas sighed. “It’s unstable. If it was injected into her, I don’t want to think. Truthfully, it is a miracle if we find her alive. Not to mention, Dorian.” 

“I have faith in La. I think you do too.” 

“Right--” Solas replied brusquely. He wasn’t sure if his current feelings of hatred directed towards the mage were the product of jealousy, or his annoyance at the hand Fenris was gently placing on his arm as his hand tapped the armrest. 

“Look, I’m sorry for how I reacted that night at the party. I was still processing. I’m mostly cool with this all now.” 

“I’m glad to hear you are _mostly_ cool.” Solas continued. His patience was thin. Although he was convinced that Ellana had not actively hidden running into Fenris at the conference. Despite this belief, Solas still was displeased. 

Fenris rolled down the window, and shot a pleading glance at Solas. At first, Solas thought he was petitioning for his forgiveness, realizing instead that all Fenris needed was help lighting his cigarette. 

“If you wanted to quit smoking--” Solas aIS grudgingly snapped his fingers to spark. 

“Maker’s Breath, are you seriously going to try and take away my last joy after stealing my girl?” 

“I did not steal her,” Solas said defensively. 

“Bro, it's a joke.” 

Solas awkwardly paused. “I guess I can find some humor in that.” 

\---

Ellana and Dorian and her had reached the top story. An old warehouse, the floor that greeted them at the final door was almost entirely an old cement floor. The heat from the downstairs fires they had started began to trickle upwards. Closing the door behind them would stop the smoke for some time, but time was rapidly running out. 

“No turning back now,” Dorian said as he looked through the large windows. A few of their captors appeared to be jumping out of the windows to escape the flames. The building was only about three stories high. Ellana was surveying the room, trying to calculate how badly they’d break their legs if they needed to jump. 

A flickering red sign caught her eye. 

“An exit sign!” Ellana pointed, running forward as fast as her legs could carry her. “Dorian, the fire escape.” 

She screamed when hands roughly grabbed her by her hair. Dragging her away from the opening. Ellana pushed back with a snarl, trying to grab leverage to stand again, crying out in pain when she felt a firm grip around her broken wrist, swinging her flat against the wall. 

“I knew you’d try something foolish like this.” Florianne de Chalons growed. Ellana could see her brown eyes boring into her like screw into a plank of wood. A shiver erupted in her body, causing her to freeze in place. 

“Careful, she has more of that red shit in her hand!” Dorian said, darting forward.

\---

The tires of the car squealed as Allistair abruptly changed direction, turning as thick smoke could be seen rising on the horizon. Driving the wrong day down the abandoned street 

Solas recognized Bull’s voice on the radio, “We have a possible sighting due east. Old armor factory.” 

“Fucking venatori are jumping out of the windows,” Briala confirmed. “We need paramedics and fire control here. Solas where the fuck are you! We need as many fucking mages as possible.” 

“Ugh, I feel sick,” Fenris said, loosening his seat belt as they pulled around the corner. The moment the car came to a crashing halt, he tumbled out, vomiting into a patch of grasses pushing up through broken cement. 

“I’m fine. Go find her,” Fenris demanded when Solas went to check on him. 

Solas surveyed the area. He could see clusters of unmarked cars circling the area. Grey Wardens were spilling out into the street shouting orders as a fire engine began to spray 

\---

The smoke from the upstairs was quickly accumulating, billowing around Ellana and Dorian as they wrangled Florianne to the ground, and then back again, locked in a seemingly unwinnable battle. 

Florianne had unloosened the top to the lyrium vial. A long needle had come dangerously near Ellana’s eye on a few occasions as she and Dorian relentlessly tried to push Florianne off of them. Any other day, Ellana was sure that Dorian might have been strong enough to pin the Orlesian noble to the ground, but the red lyrium had weakened them both. Her muscles felt heavy, not to mention that she only had one good hand. 

It took a concerted effort to protect themselves, let alone gain any standing. 

Losing her balance, Ellana felt herself fall with a hard crash to the floor. Dorian pulled Florianne away, but she rebounded with a yell, picking up a discarded pipe and hitting him in the head with it. 

Florianne was stradling Ellana with the needle when she could hear the shouting downstairs. Right when Florianne was about to pierce her skin again, Ellana could feel a trickle of magic coming to her again. Clenching her eyes she tried to bring it forward. 

A roar unlike any Ellana had ever heard in the background could be heard. _Was that Bull screaming?_

She could feel the start of a jab in her jaw when her body snapped. A jolt of electricity came to her fingers, like a rush. Reaching upwards she grabbed Florianne by the throat, strangling her until her unconscious body immobilized Ellana. 

Ellana’s eyelids fluttered, tired. The room around her began to spin, smoke flowing through her throat. Instead of giving into sleep, she rolled out from underneath Florianne, surprised to make out the outline of Iron Bull crouching over Dorian. 

“Kadan,” the qunari said in a distressed whisper, a single finger at the base of his husband’s neck checking his pulse. “Please wake up.” 

Ellana walked over and placed her palm on the center of her friend’s chest. His breathing was shallow, his heart barely pumping. Calming her mind, she drew up the tendrils of her last reserve of strength and siphoned her magic into Dorian who sat up with a gasp. 

\---

Solas arrived at the top of the building as Ellana collapsed onto the ground. Sinking to his knees beside her, he feared the worst. Checking her pulse, he found it to be steady. Underneath scratches and a large bruise on her forehead, Solas saw a calm expression on her face. The steady rise and fall of her chest reassured him further. 

“She’s only asleep,” he said to Bull and Dorian who looked anxiously on, clutching one another. 

The sound of Florianne stirring in the background roused him. Raising a hand, he walked over, placing a hand on her temple calling enough magic to his hands to knock her out again. It took more out of him, than he wanted to admit, not to electrocute her into oblivian. 

\---

“Creators,” she exclaimed with a startled huff as Solas’ strong arms picked her up from the ground. The familiar smell of his cologne roused her back to consciousness. 

“It’s alright,” he said, the tone of his voice edging towards disbelief as they reverberated against Ellana’s cheek. 

“Dorian?” She asked. 

“You’re both alright.” Solas repeated again, squeezing her to his chest, carrying her carefully down the fire escape to the flashing red lights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! I'm at 42,000/50,000 words for nanowrimo (with two days to spare). I'll probably go through the last few chapters to do some major cleanup in the next few weeks, but I don't like to delay posting. Thanks to everyone that has been reading.
> 
> a reader has also convinced me that "actual" smut is needed so I'm going to attempt to plug some more of that in in the upcoming weeks. 
> 
> This is the last arc before the end so a lot of the secrets that have been spilling into this last round are going to firm up. (I have a pretty rigorous outline, so we'll see where it ends up).


	78. The One Where Solas and Ellana are Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW up ahead.

**CHAPTER 77**

Ellana was walking through a house she had never visited before. The walls were painted gallery white. Modern furniture is well-thought-out arrangements mixed in with. Ancient elven pottery urns caught her eye as she meandered the hallways until she came across a luxurious kitchen with sleek cabinets and a large range stove. 

Herbs hung from oak rafters. Dill and thyme, along with elfroot and blood lotus. The smell, or the approximation of one, reminded Ellana of the hours she had spent training to be Keeper. She had forgotten most of the recipes, but not the alchemical aromas. 

It made her miss home. Her first home on the Dalish reservation with her parents. 

A virescent spirit floated behind the kitchen counter, using a mortar and pestle as it separated stem and leaf. The spirit pushed a glass of warm liquid across the marble countertop, nodding as Ellana picked it up. 

She didn’t drink it, having been warned by her Keeper about accepting gifts from spirits. Superstition, she thought in the back of her mind, still who was she to reject such wisdom? Navigating the Fade was still new to her. 

“Events have been put into motion that can’t be undone.” 

“What do you mean?” Ellana interrupted, her hands trembling as she took the earthenware cup. 

“You’re one of us.” 

**\---**

Solas had wrapped Ellana in a wool blanket on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. Watching her chest rise and fall in a peaceful slumber like he had the night they battled the Pride Demon gave him an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. A few scratches and bruises covered, but on the whole, her expression was untroubled. Still, Solas had kept close watch for the past hour. Soon, they’d make the drive over to the castle. 

Ellana's eyes blinked open. He had to gently guide her back down as she shot up with a gasp. 

“How long?” She stuttered. 

“Are you worried about missing class?” Solas asked, guiding the blanket up to her chin. Ellana and Dorian had been kidnapped for a little over twenty-four hours. It was still early in the evening. 

“Yes.” 

“You still have another full day in the city. Although I expect you and Professor Pavus might miss your brothel tour. “ 

“Creators,” Ellana grimaced. “Where is Dorian?” 

“He’s on the rebound--If you like, we can visit after we treat your injuries...” 

Solas was doing his best to keep his voice level as he answered Ellana’s questions. It was difficult considering the constant noise outside, a reminder of his failure to intervene in time. His patience wore away further when a subdued Fenris skulked up to the back door of the truck. In the elation of finding Ellana, he had forgotten about her ex. 

Although annoyed, Solas leaned to pull the artist up. Not doing so would be rude. Especially considering how much help Fenris had been in the rescue. Over the last evening, Solas had found himself warming towards Fenris. However, now that Ellana was back, he had to repress a territorial urge. 

“Hi La,” Fenris said with a small wave, wincing as he spotted her injuries. “I wanted to see how you were before heading home.” 

“You’re still here,” Ellana said, grasping Fenris’ arm warmly. Solas couldn't ignore how comfortable the pair seemed together; each movement enacted like a practice dance routine. 

“Fenris helped us find you both,” Solas said, coming back to sit on the side of the stretcher, nimble fingers brushing away the hair from Ellana’s groggy face. “It was lucky he was there.” 

“Thank you,” she said earnestly with a squeeze.

“I-I, um. If you want to come by the studio, I’m renting before leaving.” Fenris paused, looking at Solas as if asking for permission, “Both of you, that is. You’re both welcome. Bull and Dorian, too, if they are up for it. I can text you the address, La?” 

“That is very generous of you,” Solas said with warmth that surprised even him. 

Solas wasn’t sure how to read the expression on Fenris’ face as he waved good-bye one last time. In a puff of cigarette smoke, the artist vanished so quickly that he didn’t have time to study it thoroughly. 

“I’m sorry. I was going to text you.” Ellana said quietly. Solas could hear honest contrition in her voice. “I didn’t know Fenris was attending the conference, and he--.” 

“He explained." Solas interrupted, drawing in a sharp inhale. “I understand. I will admit to feeling slightly perturbed at first, but that was unreasonable considering the circumstances." 

“Thank you for coming, All the way from the Anderfels. I hope I didn’t interrupt your conference.” 

Solas noticed how Ellana shrank a bit. He wasn’t sure if it was worry over Fenris or simply exhaustion. “I don’t think you needed my help by the time I made it here.” He paused with a smile, stiffening as he continued to reassure her. 

“What happened?” She said, suddenly alert. Her hand grasped for him, drawing him close. “Something is wrong.” 

“I was consulting,” Solas admitted sitting down on the edge of the stretcher. He felt defeated despite the successful rescue. “On complicated medical cases.” 

A pause. 

“Not in the Anderfels.” 

“Are you alright? You look so drained--” 

“I think I should be the one asking you that.” 

Ellana smiled weakly as he dragged a few fingers over the scratches on her face, knitting her skin back together. It was easy for him considering how superficial the wounds were. Although he suspected that Ellana had been abused, she seemed relatively at peace. 

“Something happened?” She asked again, her voice taut, going near to a whisper. “Florianne told me you were in Arlathan.” 

“She did?” Solas froze. 

“You can’t tell me--even if I guess correctly.” Ellana’s face fell with sudden understanding. It pained Solas to rebuff her. 

“That is correct.” 

\---

Ellana woke up in a new room to the sound of Solas’ voice faintly calling her name. 

“I never thought that this trip to Denerium would result in an invitation to the castle,” Ellana marveled, slowly blinking her eyes awake to see plush red velvet curtains surrounding her. It was still unbelievable to her that Solas knew the King of Ferelden. Allistair had greeted them both, extending his hospitality. Ellana had only stuttered. Somehow, seeing the noble in person felt more surreal than any kidnapping by a shadowy tourist organization.

“How did I get here?” She continued. She remembered Solas guiding her into an Inquisition SUV and driving, but not entering the castle. He had insisted on driving them himself. 

Solas’ expression was unrevealing. 

“I carried you from the car,” Solas replied, drawing open the curtains to reveal a room that Ellana had always imagined a palace bedroom would look like. Old stately furniture with carved armrests and crumbling walls covered in faded tapestries. A gas fireplace, shining, radiated a pleasant warmth all the way to the opposite wall. 

Solas was sitting on the edge of the bed, peering down at her. His shirt unbuttoned too low for general company, the crisp white fabric stained with dirt and dried blood. Her blood, Ellana assumed. 

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Solas asked in a faint voice. Calm again. “I want to take a closer look at your injuries.” 

“Yes. Please.” 

Ellana was eager to feel Solas’ steady hands on her. If only to push the memories of Florianne’s abuse away. Instead of his usual warm touch. Solas’ hands were clinical as they rubbed at the surface of her skin, trailing over the spot where she had hit her head. 

“I should have brought you to the hospital even if I don’t think you have a concussion,” Solas said as if reprimanding himself. 

Before Ellana could respond, she felt a warm buzz on her skin, her headache vanishing as Solas’ spell soaked into her skull. 

“If there is any fault, it is mine. I should have been here,” he whispered to her mournfully. A storm rising in his gaze as he studied her. 

Ellana drew out a hand to comfort him, crying out when she realized how much pain her wrist was as she untucked from her chest. It was swollen and purple, bent at a strange angle where Florraine had repeatedly stepped on it. Her hair was matted to her scalp. A film of dust mixed with bodily fluid covered her. 

“It’s broken.” Solas exclaimed in disbelief, “I can’t believe you slept through this.” 

“Eventually, the pain was tolerable.” Ellana shrugged, not sure of what else to say, “Can you heal it? I don’t want to go to the hospital.” 

“Yes, but this will hurt,” Solas warned, his harsh tone subsiding. “This will hurt _badly_.”

“I can bear it.” Ellana declared. After hours she had spent on the dirty floor enduring Florianne’s abuse, she knew she was capable. 

Solas nodded, jerking her arm so her bone would set correctly. A quick snap and she was seeing stars. Followed by immediate relief as Solas’ magic pumped into her again, the feel of the bones knitting together was excruciating. Ellana used her other hand to cover her scream. 

“It’s over,” Solas comforted, releasing her arm and cupping her face. 

“Thank you.” Ellana breathed, moving her fingers. Standing to survey the room. 

“Do you feel lightheaded? Are you hungry?” Solas fretted.

Ellana looked down at her suit. When she had first put it on for the conference, it had been an elegant black velvet set. Now it was little more than a stiff rag, the shoulder torn off, soaked with spit and blood. Before she processed the events of her kidnapping, all Ellana wanted was to bathe. 

“I need to shower,” Ellana announced. 

Solas rose without warning, walking to the bathroom. The sound of water running made Ellana want to wash her body more. She was about to sit up and make the short walk over when Solas reappeared. 

Ellana looked straight into his eyes. There was so much to say. She wanted to explain about how stupid she felt to have not fled the moment that Florinne had begun to interrogate her. Why had she _actually_ gone to the bathroom without reaching for her beeper? Instead, no words came to her. 

Instead, Ellana was surprised when Solas swept her up into his arms. 

“This is ridiculous,” she protested. “It’s a short walk.” 

“Let me help take care of you for once,” Solas declared as he set her down on the toilet seat with a soft thud. 

The bathroom was modern compared to the bedroom but had the strange quality of having contemporary appliances stuffed into a small space not built to handle modern plumbing. Solas had been running the shower, the glass door along the edge of the tub open. Steam filled the room, condensing on the giant mirror. 

Ellana moved to take off her jacket. The jolt of pain in her shoulders prevented her from lifting the cloth over her shoulder. An unexpected cry burst from her lips. 

“May I help?” Solas asked. Ellana nodded her permission, relieved as he slipped off one sleeve and then the other, rubbing his hands over her sore tissue, mana trickling into her muscle. 

A strange alertness took over Ellana’s body as she sensed the heat from Solas’ eyes. “I wasn’t cross with you,” he explained, looking away as he unzipped her skirt, kneeling to pull it down over her legs. “I was angry at myself for not being here or closer at the very least.” 

“I understand,” She said, distracted by him reaching up underneath her slip to pull down her ruined hosiery and underwear until Ellana was standing in a black silk chemise soiled with her sweat. 

“I must look awful.” Ellana lamented self-consciously. She didn’t even want to think about how she must smell after being packed into a moldy, airless container for a day and a half. 

“Not your best, but still beautiful,” Solas chuckled. 

“You’re pandering now. It’s insufferable.” Ellana quipped as his hands traced the edge of her jaw over the line of her shoulder, his fingers tugging the ribbon straps to loosen the slip to fall. Solas intently tugged the fabric down as it stuck around her hips. The cold air rippled over her body. 

All that was left was her bralette—two small triangles of cotton lace holding in her small chest. Ellana pulled at the elastic, carefully guiding it over her head. Solas untangling it from her matted hair when it got stuck. 

The exchange felt domestic and comforting.

“I am,” Solas said in a tender voice. “Mostly, I am in awe of you. How much you fought to escape--”

Ellana had flashed back to the scenes in the foundry a few times. Unlike the attack by Andruil, the art historian had felt a sense of control in managing a mostly successful escape. Truthfully, she was more intrigued by the mentions of a “bald elf in Minrathous” than rehashing the dangers of the evening. 

It didn’t seem rational to ruminate in the safety of the castle--or worry Solas more than he already clearly was with dull reflections of haphazard bullying. 

Ellana breathed. “Florianne was not the most proficient captor. I can’t believe our ploy worked.” 

“Ploy?” 

Ellana laughed, realizing that Solas had not figured out the whole mechanism of their getaway. 

“Yes, Dorian dressed up as a desire demon. The Tevene mages fell for it.” 

“That explains the outfit. And the chains.” Solas said with a laugh as he reached over to check the temperature of the water. His brow furrowed as he reached his hand to turn the knobs slightly.

Ellana resisted the impulse to rub her cheek against his shirt and dirty it more. Seeing her resistance, Solas hastily drew Ellana in immediately into a firm embrace. 

“Oh, Ellana,” Solas breathed into her hair. It was a voice she had never heard from him before. Lost yet caring. For a moment, they stood there, in various states of undress, holding one another. “I was so afraid something happened to you.” 

“It’s over,” Ellana repeated Solas’ earlier statement. “We’re ok.” 

“This time,” Solas said grimly. 

\---

Solas had slid the glass door of the shower open, guiding Ellana in to sit upon a built-in stool. As she tipped her head back into the warm fount of water, she could hear him undo his belt, the whoosh of his pants falling to the floor followed by the clinking of the buckle hitting the floor. 

A cold gust of air announced Solas stepping in to join. 

Solas had detached the showerhead and scrubbed her with a fragrant soap until coloring was olive once more. The rough feel of the sponge and the suds on her skin were restorative. 

Ellana had moved to wash herself a few times, only to have Solas redirect her by shifting her weight so she could rest the back of her head against his shoulder as his hands worked her body, rubbing out every ache until she felt zero residual pain. 

“I want a life with you without secrets,” Solas announced suddenly. His voice is soft and quiet. 

Ellana turned to gaze at him. His jaw clenched firmly. 

“I want that too, Solas.” 

“For the last few years, I’ve been trying to retire from consulting. I’d like that to happen when the orb is located.” 

“We’ll find the orb,” Ellana said, interlocking his fingers with his. A squeeze. 

\---

The kiss began at the sink, spilling into the bed in a matter of seconds. Ellana had initiated it toweling off, catching Solas’ eyes hungrily following the slope of her body as they dried off. At first, Solas had been wary of gripping her tightly due to her injuries. Or so Ellana guessed as she convinced him of her recuperation when she cupped his jaw, coaxing his lips open with her tongue. Something about risking her life made Ellana feel concrete and primal. 

Solas entered her with a single thrust as she greedily called out his name, dragging her fingers desperately into his shoulders to pull him closer. His kisses usually started light. Only as he had pushed her onto the bed, it felt more as if he was devouring her. His pace a frenzy as if testing the boundaries of their mortality. 

The possessiveness of it was not lost on Ellana. It was in the way Solas ground their bodies together, his breath turning ragged as she angled her hips up to meet him. The tempo was animalistic and beyond cogent thought, so unlike the tender touch they had shared as Solas' treated her injuries. Each sweep of the tongue releasing more of the pent up energy--mixed in with the joy at being reunited again. 

Ellana was aware of Solas momentarily glancing at her through half-lidded eyes. He tipped her hips to angle in deeper. By the time Ellana crashed into orgasm, she had trembled, swearing in every curse word she knew as Solas shuddered simultaneously. 

For the next while, Ellana and Solas lay side-by-side, wordless. Momentarily, Ellana thought to ask her lover what her Tevinter captors had said about Solas in Minrathous. Amused, in part, that it had turned into a common discussion point lately. Instead, she was lulled into sleep by Solas’ familiar habit of stroking her hair, the feeling of her cheek pressed against his bare chest listening to his heartbeat. 

It was good to feel safe again. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written smut before! First time for everything. 
> 
> I mapped out most of this fic in NaNoWriMo, so I'd like to finish by the end of the year! Thank you to everyone still reading.


	79. The One Where Ellana and Solas Debate the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of domestic bliss. Some set-up, transitioning, etc.

**CHAPTER 78**

Sitting in his kitchen, Solas was doing his best to concentrate on the newspaper in his hands. Ellana was cooking eggs. Or attempting to. The soft morning light streamed in through the large windows, casting attractive silhouettes against her face as she scrambled about banging pans together. Her step was quick and inspired as she dashed about chopping and stirring. 

Solas had offered his expertise a few times only to be dismissed by a firm eye roll. True to her nature, Ellana insisted that she make breakfast herself to celebrate the weekend's start. 

He tried not to make his sigh of relief too obvious when Ellana set down a plate of mostly yellow food. Despite its ok appearance, Solas was not optimistic about what Ellana's attempt at "egg bake" or "frittata" would taste like. Despite his tutelage, Ellana had yet to produce anything edible other than a salad or sandwich. 

“Well,” Ellana said as she stared at him intently as he shoved a bite into his mouth, holding a bit too long on his tongue before dutifully swallowing. 

He nodded. “It tastes mostly as it should.” 

_“Mostly_?” she asked, her eyebrows arching. 

“There is some burning, but a minimal amount.” Solas laughed as Ellana scowled playfully, 

Since her kidnapping a month beforehand, Ellana had stayed at his apartment full time. Occasionally, she’d stopover at her studio to pick up books or some more clothes, but he was more than certain that nothing of importance was left at her own place. After reviewing yet more security protocols of what it would take for Ellana to independently live in her studio, it was more comfortable. 

Truthfully, the arrangement suited them both. Solas loved coming home to find Ellana there. It was domestic bliss. Or so, he felt most of the time. 

Other times, he felt like he was pretending. 

He wasn’t sure if it were the meetings with Briala in the guise of spending long hours at the hospital. Or ignoring the apology messages from Leliana. Something deep within him pulled him back from hoping that the obstacles he and Ellana faced--in locating the orb or his position in the Inquisition--were surmountable. 

At the very least, Solas treasured uncomplicated mornings like the one they were sharing. 

Taking another bite of the frittata, a new flavor surprised him. Solas chewed a bit of goat cheese and black olives. It was Mythal’s recipe. 

“Interesting choice. Where did you get the idea to make this?” 

It was a coincidence, or at least, that was what he was trying to tell himself. 

“I’ve been having the oddest dream lately.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“No matter where I start my journey in the Fade--I always end up in his _huge_ rustic kitchen--herbs hanging from the rafters--with expensive appliances.” Ellana shrugged, “I can’t _really_ remember much other than grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle--but this was something I watched one of the spirits made.” 

Recognizing the description of Mythal’s kitchen, Solas choked on his food.

“Are you alright?” Ellana jumped over, rubbing circles on his back until Solas could breathe clearly again. His face felt flushed from the shock, red and burning. 

“I will be. That went down wrong.” He stood to grab a glass of water. Hunching over the sink as he tried to collect himself. 

_Or would he?_

\---

Ellana restlessly paced in Cassandra's lobby and Gaylen’s condo building, trying to ignore the Inquisition agents, her security detail, swarming outside the rotating doors. Her heels clicked on the linoleum as she looked around at the vintage fixtures. It was decisively Orlesian, little gold putti carved into the crown molding lounged on buoyant clouds feeding each other grapes. 

Surveying the ostentatious decorations made Ellana nauseous. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” Solas interrupted her as the door whooshed open—a burst of cold air quelling the stifling interior. Judging by the snow collected on the shoulders of his coat, the sprinkle that had started when Ellana entered the building twenty minutes ago had turned into a deluge.

“It’s alright,” Ellana laughed as Solas drew her into a wet embrace. 

“You didn’t have to wait.” 

“I wanted to,” Ellana replied, grabbing Solas’ hand on her way to the elevator. “Besides, however, would I manage to admire that ridiculous _chapeau_?” 

Solas wore a green tartan hat complete with ear flaps that could strap underneath the chin if need be. The over-the-top protection from the cold was necessary for the neurologist, considering how he was, after all, bald.

In the creaky elevator, Solas leaned down to kiss her. It started as a chaste kiss that landed on the corner of her mouth. A few tentative pecks later, Ellana had backed Solas up against one of the walls in the corridor, sliding her tongue between his lips, her hands pressed against the pastel lavender walls. 

“I was not gone that long.” Solas teased at a whisper when they drew back for breath. Ellana weaved her fingers into the mottled thread of a thick scarf. The handiwork of Dagna, or so she was sure. 

Solas was right. He hadn’t been gone that long. Working at the hospital overnight. However, his absence had not been long. Ellana had missed him. 

The past few weeks since her kidnapping had been mostly boring. Ellana had felt numb, at times, thinking of how turbulent the instance had been. All but officially moving in with Solas had tempered her anxiety. More than that, she discovered how much she liked her current living arrangement. Unlike her past relationships, she had always struggled to share space. That had not been the case with Solas. It was easy, his presence calming. 

She didn’t have long to think. Solas cupped her cheek, pulling her in for another heated embrace. When he had pinned against one of the walls with a soft thud, much to Ellana’s embarrassment, Dorian swung open Cassandra’s door with a grin. Blushing, Ellana could perceive Cassandra shouting behind him, “Was that La and the doctor knocking?” 

“Wow, you little minx, what a show I’m getting.” He announced in Tevene, changing back to Common to say, “Oh, so good of you to make it.” 

“Given that you are not wearing a shirt, I’m not sure we’re the show,” Ellana pointed out dryly before saying “Thank you” in Orlesian. 

True to Ellana’s observation, Dorian was wearing a chocolate silk suit, with gold embroidered snakes curling around his body. A swath of bronze chest exposed beneath the blazer. 

Solas untangled their limbs, smoothing out their clothes as they passed through the threshold. The smell of evergreen lingering in the air, as Cassandra had yet to take down her Solstice tree. 

\---

“Out!” Cassandra yelled at Ellana as she tried to enter the kitchen to help. 

Solas did his best not to chuckle. He had been regulated to peeling potatoes and chopping onions. Considering the wet tears streaming down his cheeks, he wasn’t sure if it was a test or some punishment. 

Still, he persisted in dicing the onion—his small effort earning the approval of the zealous prosecutor. 

“You’ve already made the salad Lala, go drink with Dorian,” Cassandra huffed, turning down the knob on a burner to keep a pot of water from overflowing. 

Solas gave her a coy look when she flashed him a pleading look. “I think we can handle it.” 

“Creators, your sobbing. What has Cass done to you?” 

Solas resisted the urge to rub his eyes more if he caused his eyes to burn more. 

“He is chopping onions,” Cassandra replied dryly. She was wearing a purple apron, stirring a pot of a delicate sauce on the stovetop. Solas wasn’t sure what they were having, but he wished he could have a glass of wine. Considering he was on call, however, necessitated abstention. The longer he spent with Cassandra, the more he questioned his long-term career choices. 

“You know Solas can cook,” Ellana said. “You don’t have to do _everything._ ” 

A soft humph was the only answer Ellana received as she slowly backed away into the living room, abandoning Solas to his solitary labor. 

"Last time I let her cook unintended she ruined my best pan," Cassandra joked with Solas once Ellana had vanished. 

"Now, that is a situation I am more than familiar with." 

A small chuckle. Perhaps the chill was thawing? 

\---

After dinner, everyone but Dorian and Ellana played a complicated strategy game. Much like cooking, the two had been banned from such occupation after winning too many times as collaborators, bribed with a bottle of wine to entertain each other instead. 

“I have the worst chore.” Dorian sighed, laying his head down in Ellana’s lap as he despondently put his feet up on the sofa. “Will you help me? Nug princess?” 

Ellana giggled, doing her best not to spill her coupe as Dorian vigorously gesticulated in the reclined position. She had been worried, at first, that Dorian would resent her for putting him in harm’s way. The result had been quite the opposite. The synergy they had always shared deepened.

“What do you need?”

Ellana knew from experience to ask for specifics. The word chore to Dorian could mean anything from a request for a nude painting session to cleaning out the garage. 

“I have babysitting duty for Spring break. I know undergraduates are technically adults, but the administration won't allow the art students to go overnight alone. Anyway, Felix canceled--so I’m wondering if you might want to tag along for the evening?” 

“Oh, what for?” Ellana swallowed nervously. She knew Dorian wouldn't ask. If he didn't think it was safe. It might not be the best idea, however. 

"The annual study trip. It is _much_ more fun than the one the Art History department puts on. We slumber in one of the Ballrooms in sleeping bags--the Crown provides 

In the dining room, Solas and Bull froze as they listened to Dorian's proposal. 

It did little to reassure Ellana. 

“It’s at Halamshiral,” Dorian continued. “An overnight. Not at the castle--but…”

“I’m going along too. Only there needs to be another faculty member per university policy.” Bull blurted out with a glance in Solas' direction. Ellana knew the comment was to reassure them that, unlike her last foray out of town, the protection would be a little more thought out. Cassandra and Gaylen watched the whole exchange with confusion. 

“There is nowhere safer than Halamshiral. It would be easy." Solas said softly with a nod in Elvhen. Words only Ellana could understand.

I'd love to go!" Ellana said to Dorain, but not before catching the worried glance that Cassandra and Gaylen shared. The meaning, she was sure, did not bode well for their opinion of the "doctor." 

She wished she could tell her oldest friends the history behind the exchange. Doing so, however, might expose them to danger as well.

\---

“What aren’t you telling me, La?” Cassandra was aggressively whispering to Ellana in the bedroom. He had gone to the restroom. Lingering over the sink when he heard the heated tone. 

“About?” Ellana said defensively. Solas could picture her putting her hands up as she was wont to do when angry. 

“I know something happened in Denerim. To you and Dorrian. When Gaylen spoke to Fen last week, he said you ran into each other at the conference. Mentioned Solas was there. Did he think you needed a chaperone?" 

“You don’t need to check up on me.” 

“What do you know of Solas outside of the University? We left for Navarra, and then you were living together? The Ellana I know would never have compromised her independence that way.” 

“I-I,” Solas winced as he heard Ellana stuttering. He knew there wasn’t any explanation that she could share that didn’t compromise their quest to find the Orb. Or lead to further estrangement. 

“You practically asked his permission to go on that trip with Dorian. I know that you were attacked earlier this year. But why does Solas need to know where you are all the time? it’s so controlling.” 

Silence. 

“La, I just care about you.” Cassandra’s voice softened. “I know who Solas works for. I’m not supposed to say this, but I’ve seen him in passing at work. He’s in an adjacent branch of the Chantry. A dangerous one--” 

Solas couldn’t recall seeing the prosecutor in his visits at Halamshiral or any other Inquisition branches. That wasn’t saying much considering that he avoided spending any prolonged time there--or walked straight into Briala's or Leliana's office. His active days as an agent were long past. Now he was more remote. 

“Cassandra, I know some of the things you’ve waffled within your own job are also ethically ambiguous. Some matters, however unpleasant, are _necessary_ \--” 

“That’s--” 

A knock on the door followed by Dorian’s whine interrupted Solas’ loitering. Stepping out in the hallway, he ignored the mocking smile the artist gave him as he twisted his mustache. He had tarried too long--and shrugged with a remorseless smile as the Dorian preemptively plugged his nose, sliding past him into the bathroom like a stalking cat. 

\---

Ellana mulled over Cassandra’s warning on the car ride over. Instead of dwelling, she sighed, leaning up against Solas’ shoulder, catching Blackwall’s amused gaze in the rearview mirror. Despite Dorian’s early comments, the couple was usually loath to engage in any form of visible affection with an audience.

Although Ellana suspected her friend had good intentions, she had little patience for the commentary. Instead of questioning their relationship, Ellana relaxed into her lover's outstretched arm, watching as the outside buildings cast pale shadows along his angular cheekbones. Although his face was bare, they were not so different in upbringing--orphans working to navigate unusual magic--she could understand how Solas had arrived at his current predicaments. 

For a moment, as quick as a flickering flame, Ellana thought that everything might turn out alright. 

\---

Solas was sitting against the quilted headboard reading a theoretical history of the Fade when Ellana wrapped her arms around his middle, fighting her way between his chest and his reading material. For a moment, Solas thought to bring up the conversation he had overheard between her and Cassandra. By the time he had formulated what to say, however, Ellana had fallen fast asleep. 

Pulling the top coverlet up around her shoulders, Solas thought it could wait until tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that trailer? My partner said he has never heard me say the words "thirst trap" before. (Which I repeated a lot). 
> 
> Always listen to the Cassandra in your life. They are probably always right. 
> 
> Things are going to escalate really quickly after the next chapter. Be prepared.


	80. The One Where Ellana Makes A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some NSFW content up ahead. Also, some spoilers from Tevinter Nights (loosely since I've reworked a lot of the canon), but trying not to ruin any plots in any of the DA universes!

**CHAPTER 80**

Sera was bending a paperclip into an approximation of a star. Ellana had quickly learned to put something out in advance of her appointment for the weekly office hours visitor to play or fidget with. Sometimes she would even display the result. On one corner of her desk, mixed in with some loose pens and a stack of post-it notes, there was a menagerie with a giraffe and a stick pony and a few other stars hooked together. 

Ellana wasn’t sure why Sera had taken to her considering her vocal objections to most of the material she went over in class. Truthfully, she had trouble comprehending most of what the art student had to say. Underneath the nonsense, there were cogent ideas; it just took some time to unravel them. Or, so Ellana had found after several mystifying monologues on Sera’s part. 

Truthfully, Ellana suspected she might be one of the only professors that took the time to try and understand Sera’s passions. Although she was not an adept scholar, Sera had made a splash in the art scene with guerilla-style works as part of what she termed as the Red Jenny collective. 

Besides, Sera was one of the only students that visited her office hours. 

Today’s discussion was reminiscing on this week’s lecture on late Andrastian idols and the contemporary depictions of Shartan at the turn of the century. The mention of the elven disciple had rewoken Sera’s grief over the beetle in the display case from two months prior. 

It was absurd, but Ellana was charmed that Sera cared so deeply for something so small. 

“It’s awful. One moment a small lil happy bit scampering around minding their own business. Next, bam, dead! Nuthin’ you can do it. Dead!” 

“I understand that the beetle was graciously sheltered by the registrar’s office in a glass jar given the cold weather.” 

It wasn’t quite a lie. After all, Ellana had seen the beetle alive on the registrar’s table prepping for the exhibition before it made its way to probable execution in the preservation office. It had even been given a stick to climb on. At least, or so Ellana tried to console herself. It had a few happy hours munching on greens. 

“Bam!” Sera reiterated, slapping her palm down on the hard laminate surface of Ellana’s desk. 

“I understand that we are still mourning Shartan,” Ellana mused supportively. “I might ask, however, if you have given thought to your final project.” 

Generally, Sera refused to write papers, and all assistance of additional tutoring in the Writing Center. Ellana was as helpful as her schedule would allow, attempting to pass anything that might resemble the assignment requirements. It was Sera’s fifth year at the university, and she was on probation. Ellana was hoping for a little extra nudging or bribery. She might be able to motivate the student to graduate.

Otherwise, Dorian might have a nervous breakdown. 

“Have you heard of the book by this guy named Weylon? Really old?” 

“Weylon, as in Brother Genitivi’s assistant?” 

Ellana was familiar with the story from her early studies. Weylon, the assistant of Brother Gentivi, had what many considered a schizophrenic break with reality, claiming to hear the voice with Andraste. As a result, he had become a serial killer, almost murdering Brother Gentivi in a very dramatic public argument in Denierium Square. 

“Yeah, he wrote a book on art stuff too.” 

The book in question was a bit of a lark. Occasionally a scholar would attempt to figure out the source material. The objects and places described weren’t wholly made-up but chimeric in content. Page after page described mosaics merging into paintings and factual statues placed in fantastical, made-up locations. 

“I’m aware. You know he was also a serial killer, and that much of his writing was a fabrication.” 

“But that’s the interesting part, the fabrication!” 

“You don’t want to consider another of Brother Genitivi’s associates, like the bard Philliam Bernard Alocious Travelyan? A little less gruesome.” 

As the words came out, Ellana knew there was no convincing Sera. 

“Say that real fast again,” Sera giggled. 

“Philliam Bre-rnard Al-ee-ocious Travelyan?” 

Sera erupted as Ellana slurred the words. It was hard to be cross. 

Philliam Bernard Alocious Travelyan, another traveler with Gentivi in the Middle Ages, had written a treatise, all in iambic pentameter, about exploring a number of the dark roads. Before magic had faded, the routes were filled with any number of undiscovered treasures from bygone ages where darkspawn roamed. A cave-in had ended his bardic voyages. 

“Philliam Bernard Alocious Travelyan. A noble who accompanied Brother Genitivi on one of the last trips to the Dark Roads. His work--” 

“Eww, a noble! I don’t want to write about a stinking noble. I want to talk about the middle people that no one reads about. They had things to say--”

Sera continued talking, And sudden realization snapped in Ellana’s head. She had been looking for the Orb entirely wrong. In her desperation, she had consulted every authoritative text on any subject related to elven relics or any adjacent subject she could think of. She was sure the Inquisition had too--only, they had both forgotten to search among the margins--so to speak. 

Ellana knew where to look. She recalled an obscure text that she had consulted writing her dissertation. A manuscript written by a Chantry sister by Justine searched for the lost relics of Shartan. It was a fantastical work, half in rhyme, that many scholars had assumed to be interpretations of scripture. A vision, or so the sister had said, after stumbling along her way in the dark roads, of a paradise. 

_A jaunt in the Fade masquerading as an apparition?_

The originals were in the library at the University of Orlais. 

Ellana had to see them as soon as possible. 

“Sera, let’s cut the bullshit. I will pass any ten-page paper you write on any subject, however loosely, relating to the class's content if you can demonstrate the ability to make a clear thesis statement and follow it throughout. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Sera paused, “your gracious lady bits.” 

“ _You_ have to do it. I will know if you cheat. I’m a mage.” 

Sera’s fear of magic was well-known to Ellana because every time she mentioned mage-crafts, a soft squeal would echo out into the lecture. The first few times the waggish sound had interrupted her presentation, there was a rumbling laugh. Over time, the cohort had collectively learned not to react.

“Magic? A Mage?” 

Ellana nodded. She wanted to scare Sera just enough to take the assignment seriously. She wouldn’t have to use magic to evaluate if Sera’s work was plagiarized. However, the threat might be enough to avoid that scenario. 

“I can write a paper on whatever I want?” Sera asked nervously, tapping her metal star against the table. 

“Related to the class material. A twelve-point font, with proper margins.” 

Sera rose, looking disgruntled. Ellana knew she was grappling with the sharpness of their exchange, softening; she continued: “You can bring things to review next week. We can work on it during office hours. Do you need me to help get you started?” 

A small smile, the first genuine one she had received from Sera. 

“I think I’ll go get some books, yeah?” 

Ellana nodded approvingly.

\---

As soon as Sera left, Ellana slammed her office door shut and jogged as quickly as her pumps could carry her to the library. Spring was slowly unfurling. Green shoots were starting to burst out of the brown patches of the lawn. Sleet was still common; a cold rain pounded against Ellana’s raincoat as she tightly drew it around herself.

No matter what she wore, she always felt a vague sense of dampness. 

The special collections library was located at the center of the quad. Given that Friday, with Spring Break next week, Ellana expected to find it empty except for a skeleton staff. Quiet enough for her to concentrate. 

Stacks of books greeted her, placed in a rainbow of spines in any number of extinct languages. Despite her love of the object, Ellana still felt at home, delving into pages of text. Each tome represented another possibility or opened new life--ones she might never experience. 

She stopped by the front desk, picked up a slip of paper, and walked over to the central table. If she were lucky, she’d only have to wait twenty-four hours to view the manuscript. 

A mop of messy blonde hair greeted her. One of her former students 

“Cole, it is nice to see you.” 

Admittedly, Ellana did not know with great certainty many of her students’ names. Cole was one of the few students that stuck out. He had always written the most poetic essays. A badge on his chest, with his name, indicated he was a worker there in the library. 

“I can rush this for you, Dr. Lavellan. You seem to really need it. Can you wait for an hour or so?” 

“Thank you, I can.” 

\---

Ellana and Solas had avoided being together on campus. That way, they could not be accused of impropriety. 

After her discovery, however, in the reading room, Ellana had sent a flurry of elusive texts to Solas asking him to join him in her office. It was late, almost ten o’clock at night. The sliver of light in her office was dark, a desk lamp illuminating the compact space. But she knew from his calendar that he had been teaching earlier in the day and most likely reviewing materials in advance of the weekend. 

The news couldn’t wait. 

A knock, and then her door creaked open. It was Solas in a charcoal suit that made his eyes pop. He looked well-rested, having been off duty from the hospital for the past couple of nights. Ellana waved, with a grin, for him to sit down across from her. Checking that the door was sealed shut, she reached out to take his hand in her own. 

“I found it,” Ellana preened, holding up one of the xerox copies from where she sat. “The orb, I know where we should look next.” 

Charged mana ricocheting against the walls like an excited swarm of mayflies. Ellana wasn’t sure where hers ended and Solas’ began. 

“How? Where” Solas asked. “We’ve been searching. The Inquisition has been searching.” 

“We were looking in the wrong place. I remembered this odd little book speaking to one of my students, but this book was translated into Tevene and then never published again. The only reason I reference it was because of my dissertation when I discussed Shartan. Anyway…there was this Chantry sister Justine that no one took seriously because she couldn’t. ” 

The words were tumbling out of her mouth. Rushing at a speed, she could barely keep up with. Her tongue felt like it might be collapse upon itself. 

“Ellana, we have time. You are going to asphyxiate.” Solas teased, his eyes brightening. 

“Let me translate; this one section: the edge of the world is here and is a revelation. First, the hawk will chase the hare around the sun. The halla will escape, and the dragon will chase, while the wolf snarls. The city that once bore the world will tumble.” 

She noticed cock his head as he listened to the words. A look of terror, one she had never seen before surfaced, in the twist of the brow. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. 

“These are words Sister Justine wrote about entering a paradise,” Ellana thought more explanation would reassure him, “What she describes is like the place we entered in Var Bellanaris, only she ascribes it to a holy vision.” 

Ellana held up a map. It was rough, full of scratchings. 

“What is this? A map of other sites?"

“Only partially, I think there is a broader puzzle, but I can’t figure it out. Sister Justine’s routes are rather well-known. Some of the relics she brought back on her pilgrimage are extant. I was hoping you might have some recommendations. I think it has to do with the stars, but it needs a scientist--”

"Youare remarkable.” Solas sat in awe, catching her eyes. “This is it. In front of us the whole time. We are going to find the Orb, I can sense how close we are." 

Solas usually clenched jaw relaxed, his shoulders shook with the news It was as if the tension of the last decade simultaneously was evaporating. Seeing her lover that way, made Ellana ebullient, her head racing as the world around them vanished. Standing, she fade stepped around her desk, landing as gracefully as possible in front of Solas, bending over to plant a soft kiss on his lips. 

“No,” he laughed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. 

Another kiss, more insistent. This time, a soft bite on his lips earned her a rumbling groan. 

“This is a bad idea,” Solas muttered, unconvinced. “Someone could walk in..." 

Ellana nodded in agreement, but Solas kissed her again, his hands firmly cupping her cheeks. Leaning back onto her desk, she clamped her hand down on her mouth to stifle a moan as her lover’s mouth swept up her neck.

"Thank you, this is--" he whispered into her ear. "Everything will work out." 

Ellana answered him by dragging the flatness of her thumb against the erection in his pants. 

A move that made Solas stutter into the nape of her neck. 

“Campus is empty for spring break,” Ellana reassured him in Elvhen digging her fingers into his shoulders when he gave her a sharp look. “It’s late.” 

Solas waved at the door and Ellana felt a ward blocking access. 

Ellana gave in, sucking on Solas' earlobe as he slid one hand up her tight pencil skirt, his other pushing her thighs open. Her own fingers were occupied quickly, unloosening his belt, doing their best to slide his fly down, pulling his pants down around his muscled thighs. 

The creaking sound of her office door made Ellana freeze. 

Someone couldn't open the door unless they disabled the ward. 

It would have to be a mage. 

Sitting up, Ellana tried to make out the figure haloed in the bright fluorescent lights of the outside hallway. 

“Well, isn’t this an interesting picture,” Ellana flinched as the unctuous drawl of Vivienne Le Fer echoed coldly down the hallway. “A rather inappropriate one, I might say.” 

Ellana froze, looking up at Solas with dread. His face was stern, angry. She wasn’t sure if it was at himself or Vivienne’s scolding. Or worse, her. After all, she had been the instigator. 

Grudgingly, and with great shame, she removed her hand from inside Solas’ underwear, doing her best not to fall off her desk as her lover jumped backward, scrambling to zip up his pants. 

“This is a power play, nothing more,” Solas said softly in Elvhen, reaching out to brush lightly against her fingers. “It will work out.” 

Ellana swallowed nervously. 

She was sure that Solas would be fine. 

The excitement of her discovery withered with the realization that her career, as a professor, was definitely over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we knew with all the various threats that they'd mess up at some point. 
> 
> Sister Justine is from origins. She's the one that asks you to bring back relics from the Sacred Temple. As is Weylon. Did some major canon restructuring here--but what else is fanfic for?
> 
> My idea with the darkspawn in this world is that as magic began to decline, they disappeared and Blights stopped being a threat. (this is not really worth stewing over, I think). 
> 
> Why did Vivienne interrupt these two? The next chapters will reveal.


	81. The One Where Solas Receives Sad Nug News

**CHAPTER 81**

“Undoubtedly, you’ve heard about my conduct review,” Solas grumbled to Briala. He was sitting in her office after dropping Ellana off to chaperone for the field trip with Dorian. Unlike Leliana’s basement hovel, the space was a composite of soft greens, not unlike his apartment. Leafy, verdant, and full of natural light. 

The decor made him worry as it reinforced the stereotype that all elves shared a favorite color. 

“The whole thing is so infantilizing. A complete and utter manipulation of events,'' Solas continued.

“It must be strange to be on the other side of it again.” 

“Powerless? yes,” Solas said angrily. 

Briala shrugged. 

“The state infrastructure wants us to be powerless.” 

“Elves, you mean?”

“Yes. You already know this, but the whole hearing is a sham. I looked into the University policy, and it won’t allow you to bring along a lawyer until you are formally charged, which is unlikely to happen given that this is a consensual relationship and your so-called supervision has no bearing on Dr. Lavellan’s faculty standing. I expect, given your position, that won’t be an issue. If it is, I will represent you." 

Until that afternoon, Solas had forgotten that Briala had a law degree from UofO. A childhood friend of Celine, she had been put through top law school by the Empress. He wasn't sure when the romance started. 

" It is the least I can do,“ Briala offered, “as I don't think this accusation would ever be made towards a human professor." 

“The university isn't wrong to reprimand Dr. Lavellan and me. Our conduct was unseemly. Mine especially for a senior faculty member.” 

“Shit happens,” Briala shrugged. “It sounds, given the report, that you were engaged in some hearty consensual fun behind a closed door. Not that I would recommend such behavior, as your legal counsel, but I hardly think anything more than a stern warning is fair. Pressure and power make for mistakes sometimes. What do you think goes on in my office during off-hours, on occasion?” 

Solas surveyed the surrounding papers, doing his best to repress images of Celine and Briala fucking passionately on every surface. He couldn’t blame the women. It was ultimately one of the safest spots, no doubt, for them to engage in their affair. 

“Are you worried?” Briala continued soberly. “I’ve gone through the evidence, and it's not much. The only thing they’ll question you on is why you didn’t secure the door.” 

“The lock is broken, according to Ellana. Purposefully so no one can trap her in the space. An Inquisition favor.” 

“Can’t use that in the defense.”

“Yes,” Solas retorted dryly. “I did set a ward, but Vivienne took it down. I was distracted, so I didn’t realize. Did you know she is a mage?”

Solas imagined, given Briala’s rivalry with Leliana, that the Chief of Staff had a thick dossier on anyone the Nightingale was connected with. He wasn’t sure what had sparked the conflict between the two spies--and was certain he didn’t want to know considering what he knew of both. 

“Yes. I’m surprised you didn’t because can’t you smell it on each other?” 

Solas laughed, it was a common misconception. The more time he spent with Briala, the more he was beginning to like her blunt attitude. 

“No, not unless someone is a powerful mage or casting magic. Vivienne seems average in capabilities.” 

“I wouldn’t tell her that,” Briala said, raising her eyes to give Solas a knowing look. 

“She felt the magic in the hallway after a meeting and was worried about Ellana, thinking she might have been trapped.” 

“You believe that?”

“Partially, I can’t blame her curiosity.” 

“This is frustrating because I know that half the professors on that campus are engaged in way more nefarious things. Leiliana and Vivienne fucked on her office desk non-stop last Fall. I can show you the intelligence if you don’t believe me. So, if you still feel guilty--.” 

At the mention of his former friend, Solas could feel his face fall. He wasn’t nervous about the conduct review, only concerned that Vivienne wouldn’t intervene when the other faculty began to retaliate against Ellana. Some of the recent encounters in the office had been horrible. He suspected that Vivienne wouldn't exactly be discreet about her discovery. 

“She’s sorry, you know.” Briala’s voice lowered. “I think you should consider her apology.”

The words surprised Solas. He didn’t readily reply. 

“Her nugs died last night. Of old age. The Schmupplyone not long after the first Schlumpyone. Apparently, nugs are bonded that way. She’s rather cut-up.” 

“A tragedy.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

Solas thought at first that Briala’s concern was sarcastic. Catching her pale eyes, he realized her concern was genuine. Or at least, it appeared that way. 

“Well then, she must be suffering.” 

\---

“I came to pay my condolences,” Solas said heatedly from the threshold of Leliana’s office. “After all, your nugs were a staple in my life for the past decade. We were, on occasion, even friendly.” 

The pale woman looked up with a mournful expression from her spot on the purple sofa. Her auburn hair was out of place, her face streaked with tears. Solas realized that he had never seen the Nightingale cry before. Nor did he suspect that anyone else could claim such a thing. 

“It was selfish of me to keep them alive for so long. Perhaps one day, I can learn to let people live their own lives without my interference.” 

Solas recognized the apology. Pausing, he looked at Leilana for permission to enter, which once granted led him to sit down on one of the padded chairs in the room. There were gnaw marks on the wooden legs and arms from where the nugs had chewed away over the years. 

It was the longest the friends had gone without speaking to one another. 

“I saw Dr. Lavellan upstairs surrounded by a bedraggled group of students with hair dyed every color of the rainbow.” 

“Art students,” Solas admitted with a wry smile. “She chaperoning their annual visit with Professor Pavus.”

“I hope there isn’t any graffiti this year. Or glitter. Why do art students leak glitter?” 

“I’m afraid that both of those concerns are outside of my control.” 

“Solas, I’m sorry for the mission in Arlathan. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I thought if we were successful, it would mean not having to locate the Orb, leaving you open to live your life. I also heard about Vivienne, and I'm sorry. I don't know why, but she's doing this to get my attention." 

Solas bristled a bit. Leliana’s words didn’t feel regretful enough to him, but it was a start. 

“There might be some movement on that front The Orb that is.” Solas didn’t want to give Leliana all the information at once. He still wanted to test the boundaries first. Still, the situation necessitated concessions on both of their fronts. Briala only had so much background on the subject. Ideally, they’d all work together, even as unwilling allies. 

“I should get going, however,” he continued, “Before the roads get too bad.” 

It was an excuse, but Solas needed to figure out who he would tell what to, Ellana included. She had no idea, for instance, that Leliana and him were on the outs, or that he knew about the prophecy. _Not to mention the note Mythal left._

“You can come tomorrow, if you like, when you pick up Dr. Lavellan.” Leliana paused. “I’m assuming since Blackwall is otherwise occupied that you will be--”

Solas had forgotten that Leliana was still in charge of Ellana’s security protocols. 

“I’ll be here, that is, if you’d like to talk about how we can work through a plan. With Briala?”

“I’d like that,” Solas said, rising. 

Stopping at the threshold, Solas looked back one more time at the grieving spymistress. 

“Leliana, I’m truly sorry about Schoomples and Schemeples." 

A soft nod, followed by a muffled good-bye, saw him through the door. 

Tomorrow would be better. 

  
  



	82. The One Where Ellana and Dorian Have a Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Ellana chat in Halamshiral about their relationships and hopes for the future.

**CHAPTER 82**

The students had been more than thrilled for the annual trip to Halamshiral. Dorian had ruefully commented that many of them were compelled to draw the strangest things as he had critiqued at least several ancient Elvhen funerary urns and other grave goods.  _ “Your influence, I’m sure.”  _ Dorian laughed, pointing out that half of the students on the trip had been in her class.  _ “All they want is elves, elves, elves. The older, the better.”  _

Drawing exercises had ended long ago. Dinner, a buffet of fancy palace dishes, had come and gone, and now the students were engaged in a game of truth or dare out of earshot at the entrance of the Ballroom, ignoring the watchful eyes of their chaperones. Bull had wandered to look at the room of dragon trophies. Neither Ellana or Dorian expected him back for hours, given his fascination with the beasts. 

“You seem oddly calm for someone in the middle of a career crisis.” Dorian interrupted as Ellana lounged on top of her university-provided blue velvet sleeping bag, taking a sip of cold beer. 

Halamshiral had given Ellana some time and space to process the events of last week. Both her discoveries regarding the Orb and Vivienne’s interruption. She had whispered a few updates to Dorian on breaks but hadn’t had the time to gossip with him in full force. Solas had been oddly calm the entire week, and the lack of agony on his part had unnerved her. It might have been easier, for instance, if he was mad at Ellana. 

She guessed this situation was nothing like any of the dangerous, life-threatening missions he had gone on. 

“It was my fault. I instigated the...encounter.” Ellana grumbled. “Solas has taken it all with aplomb, but I still feel badly. There is a conduct hearing scheduled for next week, thanks to Vivienne’s wild efficiency. We got the email this morning.” 

Ellana didn’t miss Dorian arching an eyebrow at her use of the royal we. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Half the faculty--”

“I’m sure we are not the first faculty members, married or otherwise, to have engaged in such  _ relations  _ in their offices. However, considering the early threats from Vivienne, it was not advisable. Admittedly, it is also  _ highly  _ inappropriate.” 

“Ugh, Madame Snow Bitch is always such a power tripper. Why was she near your office? it’s so out of the way.” 

“She was using the department office for a late-night senate meeting, sensed the magic, and disabled the magic ward we cast to keep someone from overhearing or entering...” 

“Vivienne is a mage?” Dorian was surprised. 

“A rather adept one, apparently. She told us she wanted to make sure that I was ok given what happened last semester. That I believe genuinely.” 

Ellana hoped Dorian wouldn’t dig too far down into why Vivienne knew about Andruil attacking her or how she might find out. She didn’t want to explain that the Chair was the sometimes mistress of one of the most secretive and elite spy institutions in all of Thedas. 

“Andraste’s ass, that's the worst luck. It's like Val Royeaux jinxed you.” 

“Well, speaking of asses, Vivienne happened to get a good look at Solas’ sculptured ass.” Ellana started laughing. The whole situation was so absurd. The more she talked about it, the more it reassured her that things might turn out ok. “Which is a rather glorious one. I might be biased, to say, but I think that might be the part that’s bothered Solas the most--” 

“Were you...?” Dorian shot her a wicked grin that made her blush. 

“ _ In medias res _ ? No, more the prequel.” 

“Surely, the conduct review will find this all--”

“Oh, it’s going to be a short and sweet conversation. I’ve already written my statement, blah, blah, blah. That the relationship is consensual and that it began in earnest before we were aware of the policy. Solas is having his lawyer look over it this afternoon…but you know how my department is going to be.” 

“It’s like Orlais wants to chew you up and spit you up for the fun of it. I mean, your department is the saddest collection of gossips and liars--they’ve never been particularly nice to each other, even. Let alone a Dalish elf. Are you sure you want to stay?” 

“I want to work in the arts,” Ellana sighed. A thought that had been permeating her mind came out next. It was hard for her to admit. “I’m not sure that I want to be in academia anymore.” 

A ripple of laughter from the students sitting in a circle echoed out in the barren chamber. Underneath the large chandeliers and fleur de lis patterned carpet, one of the students, a qunari wearing an ugly blue sweater, was doing a handstand. 

“I love our students,” Ellana admitted. “Only there are so many barriers to the actual act of teaching, not to mention the brutal publishing schedule. I can’t remember the last time I got enough sleep or was free of tension headaches.” 

“What if you started your own gallery? You have such an eye. I’d change representation.” 

Ellana had thought about doing the same thing. She was sure Fenris would sell through her, as well as any number of artists she had met through Pauper Ranch. Dorian would certainly add another star to a gallery portfolio. With a little hard work, she could put together a critical roster, one that might be successful and give her more autonomy. If not, a better paycheck. 

It was something to consider. 

“Solas and I have been talking about moving to Minrathous,” Ellana confessed abruptly. “The car ride up. We talked out a plan. I’m going to try and weather through the next year. If that fails, we’ll start to put things into motion. I’d miss you, of course, but I assumed once the kids arrive--”

Dorian and Bull were in the final stages of the adoption process. Their application would be processed at the start of summer. With any luck, home placement would take place by early Fall. 

The volume of laughter at the front of the ballroom grew. Squinting, Ellana could make out the circle of students holding up their fingers playing a round of “Never Have I Ever.” Having played the game several times, Ellana was glad to be far away from the congregated students to give them privacy from any number of tawdry confessions. 

“Oh, we will be there for all the holidays. I haven’t told you this, but I’m thinking of quitting the University as well.” 

Ellana was surprised. Dorian thrived in the studio program. 

“How come?” She asked calmly. 

“Childcare, and I miss being a full-time artist. With Bull traveling when rugby season is in session, it would be tough for me to work and parent. Also, as you know, I was raised by nannies, and I’m not sure that’s what I want for our children.” 

“That makes sense,” Ellana responded, patting her friend gently on the back, taking another swig of beer. “I’m happy to babysit when I can.” 

“So Solas would move to the Imperium. Are things that serious between you?” Dorian said after a few quiet sips of beer. His expression was nonchalant, but Ellana sensed excitement underneath.  “It wouldn’t be overnight. We still have some things to take care of here, but--yes, I think it is.” 

  
“Should I get officiated to marry you? Or are you going to do the esoteric elf thing where they cover you in ferns?” 

Ellana laughed at Dorian’s irreverent description of Elven marriage ceremonies. He wasn’t far off, as most of the ritual was about reuniting in nature with a fixation on fecundity. Large plants bedecked the couple as they clasped hands, a symbol of growth. Since she no longer had a relationship with her clan, it wasn’t an option in any event. 

“It’s not quite there yet.” Ellana finished her beer, setting down the empty bottle. “I believe it is a little too soon to, as the romantic comedies would say, ‘ring shop.’” 

“I knew Bull was the one on the first date,” Dorian admitted. “As you know, it was a blind date. I had just gotten out of a nasty tryst and had zero interest.” 

Ellana laughed, recalling the tawdry details. Dorian’s parents had arranged for him to meet with one of the nice Tevinter daughters of a friend at a coffee shop. Bull had walked in to pick up a cup of coffee, and Dorian had leaned back so far in his seat following the sway of his butt that he had fallen completely backward, cracking his head open on the cement floor. 

It was Bull who had gone to the hospital with him. 

“You and Bull are romantic.” Ellana teased. “I can only hope that Solas and I might work through our obstacles as deftly as you two did.” 

“You will. Solas loves you. Whenever you walk into a room, he lights up. Super cute.” 

“Do you really think?” Ellana said whimsically, blushing when Dorian rolled around on the floor, laughing at her incredulity. She suspected that Solas hadn’t said the words to her yet so as not to spook her. She knew the truth in the way he touched her, made her tea in the morning, and sometimes carried her to bed from the kitchen table. 

“I can’t imagine life without him. It scared me at first, but I really have never felt this way before.” 

“Isn’t it the most wonderful thing?” Dorian said with a goofy grin. 


	83. The One Where Solas Makes A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echos of Solas' past come to haunt him.

**CHAPTER 83**

Solas threw his keys in their bowl on the kitchen counter with a whistle. Tomorrow morning he’d make the long drive back to Halamshiral to pick Ellana up. He had been waffling the entire drive about how the conversation tomorrow with Leliana and Briala would go. 

He was hopeful. Unabashedly optimistic. 

It was strange to walk into the empty apartment. Looking out at the choppy sea from his dining room, he thought about the first night he had come back alone after bringing Ellana home from the hospital. So much had changed since that evening. It was no longer a fantasy to share his life with the beautiful woman he had run into on the quad on the first day of the semester. 

“Dread Wolf.” A clear voice rang out into his echoey apartment from behind him. 

Solas would recognize Andruil’s voice anywhere. Crouching in defense, he tried to cast a barrier. Caught off-guard, he wasn’t fast enough. 

A sizzling ripped out in the living room. A sick feeling that brought him to his knees. 

He clutched his head, unable to think. 

“It’s terrible, isn’t it.” A beautiful face looked down on him, “the way it burns, as if someone is scorching your insides.”

Solas began to writhe on the ground like a worm in the sun. It was as if a hand was tightening around his throat. The more magic he called, the more the pain increased. 

Andruil tsked, a red lacquer finger traced along his face to trace out imaginary  _ vallaslin.  _ Solas winced. He’d take the torture over whatever her touch was. He couldn’t stop gasping for breath. 

“Amazing what this little device does,” Andruil said, holding up the jawbone shaped instrument that she had wielded the night in the alleyway. “I should thank you for designing it in the first place.” 

“What do you want?” Solas said with the same voice one might use on a surly teenager. He thought that it might distract Andruil long enough that he’d be able to retaliate. 

“I want to talk, that is all. I wanted to that night in Arlathan, but you behaved rather ungraciously.” 

“I’m listening,” Solas said, forcing his body to relax. He was counting his breaths, trying to remember how long the device’s effects would last. The jaw-bone instrument had been one of his early innovations, meant to strengthen and weaken the Veil on a microlevel. It had been before he knew about the sinister intents of the Evanurius. 

A small part of him thought it was fitting that his own invention was now being used to punish him. 

“I want you to come with me to find the Orb.” 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll betray you again?” 

Solas was incredulous, but he knew that the manipulative woman would have had a plan to prevent such a thing. 

“No, because if you do, I will kill Ellana Lavellan.” 

Red lips that he had once kissed framing the ruin of another. 

Solas looked up at the cold face of Andruil. He didn’t have any doubt that she was capable of the act--but did she have access? Those were the real stakes. 

“Come, stand.” Andruil swayed through the space, towards his living room. She was wearing a pristine white pencil dress with a gold chain around her narrow waist. Solas knew the more angelic her appearance was, the more cruel her behavior was. 

Rising, Solas could see a screen flashing on the surface of his coffee table. He could feel his mana trickling in again; he was drawing up the well when Andruil spoke again.

“Cast a barrier if it will make you more comfortable, but anything else, and I’ll have you on your knees again.” 

Solas didn’t hesitate to cancel the spell. His eyes nervously surveyed his room. He was looking for something,  _ anything  _ he might use to knock Andruil unconscious. He thought for a moment about heading back into the kitchen to grab a knife. 

Instead, the flashing of a tablet caught his eye. Looking back at him were the watery eyes of Gereon Alexius. He was crying tears of blood, red streams falling down his face. 

“Another of your experiments. Using the Fade to cancel out a mage’s mask, rendering them tranquil. Helpful way to kill your girlfriend.” 

Solas fade stepped over to the kitchen, grabbing a large knife from the block. Andruil followed, the device in her hand, a clicking sound, and then Solas was flailing on the ground again. Two legs straddled him, and he was looking down the neckline of Andruil’s generous bosom. One hand gripped his neck as he came too. A soft pulse of electricity hit him full force. 

He blacked out. 

\---

Solas came to his sofa. Beautiful eyes gazed up at him through thick lashes. 

In an instant, the happiness he had found with Ellana vanished. He felt like a fool for his hope moments beforehand. 

“Are you done?” 

Solas stared at Andruil. No matter how he tried to move, his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Magic gripped him. A low-level current that kept him rigid, his jaw clenched shut. Only his eyes could 

“I think you need to watch this,” Andruil said to him again, sitting next to him on the couch. The same tablet she had used to show him the video of Alexius, this time showing Briala and Leliana hunched over a table in the executive conference room. Dusty scrolls behind a glass wall betrayed their location. A detail that Andruil would never have been able to fabricate. 

“Who do you think gave me your address. Or let me in?” She said. “Just watch. However, you’ll like this.” 

“We’ll be able to get the information from him tomorrow, and then we can broker a deal with Arlathan,” Leliana began. 

“Do you think they’ll be receptive? The government has been reticent to work with us in the past.” 

“Yes, but this time we have information that they can’t dream of thanks to Solas…” 

The quality began to fizzle as static took over the screen. 

“This is from earlier today.” Andruil continued with an elegant yawn. “As if one attempt at capturing me wasn’t enough, they’re trying to exchange you for me. Again.” 

Another click, and the screen changed again. This time Solas could make out the figures of Dorian and Ellana sitting cross-legged next to each other on blue velvet sleeping bags embroidered with the University mascot. The gold panels in the background flashed as the two friends laughed with brown beer bottles. 

Ellana looked happy. 

“I could kill her right here.” 

It wouldn’t be unlike Andruil to bluff. Solas didn’t want to test that boundary. 

“I need either you or her to find the Orb. I need a dreamer. Wouldn’t it be better to be you?” 

Solas began to calculate. If he went with Andruil, he’d be able to keep Ellana safe. 

From himself, at the very least. 

He could feel his body began to thaw as Andruil raised the device. Movement trickled into his fingertips. Andruil looked up at him expectantly. 

“I will need to put my affairs into order.” Solas lamented, sitting up straight as Andruil walked towards the front door. “If I am to go.” 

For a moment, Solas thought again to dash towards the panic button in one of the kitchen drawers. Remembering Leliana's betrayal made him stop. 

Solas needed to clean things up on his own. It would be easier to be alone to do so. 

Andruil nodded, recognizing her victory, the light catching her cruel eyes. Honey turned into vile. “I’ll see you in Arlathan in no less than three days, Dread Wolf.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, things were so optimistic in the last chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! xoxo


	84. The One Where Solas and Ellana Look At Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all gonna be mad.

**CHAPTER 84**

**“** You look beautiful,” Solas said, waiting for Ellana at the bottom of the stairs. 

He had texted Ellana before picking her up from Halamshiral, proposing to spend a night out. Solas would make plans, but they’d set off shortly after returning home. Surprised but excited, Ellana had rushed out to meet him in the entryway of the palace. Work out after staying up all night due to a constant barrage of giggling from the students. She had slept almost the entire way back, waking up outside the city limits of Val Royeaux. 

Opening her eyes, she glanced over at Solas’ face. Sometimes, she’d study him while he slept next to her--mostly for the wonder of it. She liked the fine lines around his eyes and mouth and the softness they expressed. Mostly, she liked the way the light caught his angular face.

Ellana had learned that although many of his associates would describe Solas aloof, there was a wealth of emotion that one could glean from the subtle twist of his lips or the way his nose might wrinkle. 

In the car on the way home, she wasn’t sure what expression she was looking at. It was dark, elsewhere. _Preoccupied, perhaps?_ Ellana had never seen Solas look so sorrowful. 

“Are you nervous about the conduct hearing?” Ellana asked in the car as they wound through the streets. It was the first temperate day in months, and Orlesians milled about on the streets in pastels and tulle. Fog from the nearby sea wafted about. Although it was late afternoon, Solas had his headlights on. 

“I’m not, but I’m afraid I also did not sleep well last night.” Ellana smiled, thinking, smugly, that he, too, had rested poorly due to her absence. 

“You’re just quieter than usual,” Ellana observed. Solas had fidgeted with the radio a few times, flipping back and forth from a news show and that week’s pop hits. Each station far from his preferences. 

“A mood, nothing more,” Solas said with a forlorn smile, taking her hand in his. A squeeze, a signal to indicate everything was alright. 

When they had arrived at “their home,” as Solas termed it, Ellana had taken a much needed hot shower, picking out a dress from her side of the closet. 

Solas had actively given her more and more space as her things trickled in. A week ago, he had cleaned off an entire shelf in his office, giving her more than enough room to place her enormous collection of books. Clearing off his desk, as well, Solas turned it over to her to work. A signal, she was sure, of his mutual feelings for her. 

Still, Ellana couldn’t shake the notion that there was some weight to this evening that she couldn’t articulate. Dorian might have teased her about an unexpected proposal. Ellana knew better. Instead of making her anxious, however, she was elated. 

Running her hand across the line of dresses hanging in the closet, she tried to pick one that matched the evening. Not knowing where they were going, despite her pressing for clues, made it difficult. 

She took out her latest creation. It was a reclaimed hand me down from Dorian, a vintage dress he brought back from winter break that had belonged to his fashionable grandmother--a gift of high imperium couture that he had rescued from his mother’s cleaning. It was almost a rag, but Ellana had painstakingly repaired the areas of shattered silk and floral print embroidery on the flat bodice. It was loose, more of a wrap she layered over a slip and opaque tights. 

Not bothering to fuss with makeup or hair, Ellana pinched her cheeks in the mirror and ambled down. 

Solas was in a suit, not one of his best, but enough that Ellana wasn’t worried about being overdressed. 

“I thought I’d drive myself,” Solas said. “Blackwall will follow along.” 

Ellana followed along the route, trying to figure out where they were going. At first, he thought that he might take her to the alienage, but as they continued deeper into the downtown area, Ellana realized that the destination would be remarkable.

When Solas pulled into the basement garage of the Museum of Contemporary Art, Ellana was caught off-guard. 

“Isn’t it after visiting hours?” Ellana mused. “Are we--” 

“A few perks of consulting,” Solas said with a giddy voice that Ellana welcomed as he unbuckled his seat belt and walked around to open the car door for her. 

Ellana was speechless as they meandered through a hidden stairway, emerging into the atrium. The entire interior was formed out of thick glass clipped into a metal frame. It appeared as if the building was floating on the outside, but on the inside, it was substantial--all thick walls and large plinths with any number of fantastic works. 

The entryway held some large statues. Ellana paused to look at a shiny red sculpture that twisted like a sea serpent, her face a fuzzy flesh-toned reflection on the glossy surface. Her heels clicking on the cement floor. 

It was so different from being in the building than the last time she had visited with Fenris. That afternoon seemed so different. She felt different. Back then, Ellana had felt so uncertain about her life. Now, holding Solas’ hand as they weaved through the museum, she believed everything was working out. 

Surveying her surroundings, Ellana realized that she and Solas were alone in the museum. Not even security guards to monitor their comings and goings. When she worked in Minrathous, she enjoyed the sensation of speedy walking through the corridors at the museum. This felt different, holy even, to be with the art in such isolated circumstances. 

It was perhaps one of the most thoughtful things that anyone had ever done for her. 

Turning to look up at Solas, Ellana shook her head in disbelief. “This can’t be real!” 

Solas chuckled. “We can go anywhere, in the building, for the next few hours. First, if you don’t mind, I’d like to show you something?”

Ellana nodded, walking quickly to keep up with Solas large gait, coming to a halt in front of a gigantic painting. It was a tondo that took up a large section in one of the interior galleries. Almost an entire wall was dedicated to it. 

Admittedly, Ellana had walked past it before and never given much attention. Most of the lights were off, and a neon pink light at its center gave it a celestial glow, like it was some off-color star. The muted canvas amplified the feeling, where lavender and hunter green melted into each other, the stark white gesso pushing up through on occasion where the brushstrokes had been quick. 

“It’s tropical and hot.” Ellana mused, walking to look more closely at the surface. It was complicated, seemingly made out of unusual materials. It made sense to her, in some ineffable way, that Solas liked this painting so much. It reminded her of the private side of Solas that she knew, tender and passionate. 

“It is my favorite painting. I’ve come here off and on again the entire decade I’ve lived in Val Royeaux. Like a religious pilgrim. I wanted…” Solas paused, grabbing Ellana’s hand again, “I wanted. Well, I was trying to find some way to show you what you mean to me.” 

“It’s alright, Solas...I know what we mean to each other.” 

“Even so, for now, the best gift I can offer right now is this moment with you.” 

The intensity of the Solas' gaze made Ellana blush. She loved Solas, and so deeply. Why was that so hard to say? 

“I never expected to meet anyone like you, who could draw me into the present world.” Solas continued. He looked away for a split second and then back again, whispering. “ _Ar Lath Ma, vhenan_.” 

Solas had kept his volume low as if to offer the words just to her. Ellana felt faint by the confession. To humans, saying, “I love you” might be the correct translation. Only it fell short of the elven meaning. There was a quality of Eros to the phrase that was difficult to express. It was in the hum of the cadence to say the words, or so Ellana thought, that captured the feelings of inseparability. 

No one had ever said something so intimate to her. Or true. 

She looked at Solas and then away again. Her face twisted between a smile and then a frown. The certainty she felt hadn’t dulled, but all she could think to do was pull Solas in for a kiss. It was the only answer to his proposal. 

She heard a sharp inhale as her tongue dug against Solas’.

Solas cupped her face, kissing her as if nothing else existed in the world. His hands holding her swaying body steady. 

“I feel the same way, Solas.” Ellana said, drawing back for a brief second until Solas' mouth was fervently upon her again. 

It stole her breath. 

\---

The morning was unremarkable except for what had passed the evening prior. 

Ellana woke to find Solas dressing. He was freshly shaved, sitting on the edge of the bed pulling a crisp button-down shirt around his shoulders, the dry cleaner's plastic thrown carelessly on the floor. Ellana stretched against the giant headboard. There were still a few more days of vacation, and she planned on lounging a bit more in bed. The red numbers on the alarm clock read 5:00 a.m. 

It was even too early for her. 

“I’m afraid I was unexpectedly called to the hospital,” Solas said quietly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a sleepy kiss on his cheek. Her bare arms brushing the soft cotton of his shirt. 

All of her was bare, actually. The cold air rippling against her sky. Solas slept with a fan on and had not turned it off. A shiver echoed out in her body against him. 

“Emergency?” Ellana asked curiously. She hadn’t heard the beep of his pager, which normally roused her. It wasn’t out of the norm for Solas to suddenly be called in, but there was a grimness to his words that made her worry again. 

“A bad one,” Solas said, pulling Ellana in for a tight embrace and then pulling them down to the surface of the bed. “I’m afraid it is probable that I won’t see you before the conduct hearing.” 

“Do you have to leave?” Ellana groaned, running her fingers down the expanse of skin revealed in the deep-v of his yet to be buttoned shirt. “Spend the day in bed.” 

Her voice was purposefully wicked as she replayed the scenes from last night. The instant they hit the bed, it was as if their bodies had unfurled into one another. Every kiss, every caress, inexhaustible. They had worked each other tired, and then again--drifting off flesh pressed against one another, warm and flushed. 

Her thighs were still sticky. When she got up, she'd wash her body and then the bedding in that order. 

A thought Ellana would never admit to in most circumstances. 

Somehow, the last few weeks had awoken a wildness in her that she hadn’t known since she was young.

Certain that her job was over, Ellana felt impulsive and untamable.

“In another world, that might be possible.” Solas’ words were jestful, but the tone was forlorn. 

Ellana tried to push it away, tracing the edge of Solas’ worried brow to soothe him, “Why not this one?” 

They had only just fallen asleep. 

It seemed so unfair that they would be parted so soon. 

“I love you in any world,” Solas said heavily, his eyes sobering. A flash of happiness drowning in the pale blue depths in a way Ellana might liken dousing a match in a kitchen sink. Behind him, she could see an airplane circling over the city, its bright lights a heart monitor for the black sky. 

“I love you, too,” Ellana said, still unaccustomed to the words, but it felt good to say them out loud. 

Solas looked away for a second and then buried his face into her hair with a deep exhale. Ellana’s mind flashed to many disparate things, like a blossom being toppled by a storm. 

“Will you call?” She asked when he drew back. “Tonight?” 

“I’ll do my best,” Solas said, pausing in the door. Briefly, he appeared as if he was about to say more. His brow twisting upward. Solas began to look at her as fixedly, as if trying to memorize her features. 

“Were you going to say something?” Ellana asked, flopping back down in between the down comforter. 

“No, I’ve forgotten. Another day if we are lucky.” 

Another glance upwards and Solas had vanished. 

Ellana could hear his forceful step on the stairs, the sound of the door locking and unlocking.

A few minutes, she was asleep again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might be more agonizing and bittersweet.


	85. The One Where Ellana Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugly Crying

**CHAPTER 85**

Ellana didn’t expect to hear from Solas until late that night. He rarely was able to answer her while working shifts at the hospital. When the next day passed, and her text messages went unanswered, on the way to campus, Ellana was concerned. The conduct hearing was that morning, and she wanted to check-in. Picking up her cell phone, she called Solas only to find that the line had been disconnected. She didn’t have long to wonder at it before her phone began to ring. 

It was Dagna. 

For a moment, Ellana hoped that it might be Solas with an explanation like a broken phone. 

A persistent stomach ache indicated otherwise. 

“Dr. Lavellan?” Dagna said in a desperate rush. “I-I can’t find Solas. The conduct board called, and he never showed up. They aren’t happy.” 

Ellana wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Dagna kept Solas’ calendar. Shouldn’t she know? 

“He was working a shift at the hospital, as far as I know. He said he’d be there for an overnight shift.” 

Ellana’s feelings were racing faster than her thoughts as she began to piece together the situation she found herself in. A situation made more cruel by Solas’ recent confession of love. The intensity of the truth, or what she perceived as the possible truth, was too hard to grapple with at once. 

There was a reasonable explanation--a mixup. Ellana was sure. 

A long pause followed. Ellana’s stomach clenched. She thought she might be sick. 

“He told me he was going to be with you and was not taking calls.” 

“I-I. It was an emergency. Do you think it is a mistake?” 

“It was yesterday afternoon. Do you think he is consulting? His phone--” 

“It’s disconnected.” 

Ellana heard a loud, rapping sound in the background. As if someone were knocking on a door.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Lavellan, can I call you right back?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Ellana slumped down in her office chair. She tried to make a note of all the things in front of her, a cognitive behavior technique she had once read about in a magazine to foster calm. Her plant, a blood lotus, was thriving. The light from the window was bright, almost pure white. The sun had been bright but obscured by thick cloud coverage. When she shut her eyes, she could hear the scraping of chairs above her. Class was about to start. 

The phone began to ring. Ellana didn’t look at the caller ID. 

“Solas?” 

“I-I. No, sorry, it is me, Dr. Lavellan.” Dagna’s voice was fearful, worried. “There is someone here that needs to see you. Do you think you can come over?” 

“Yes, I’ll be there.” 

Ellana clicked her phone off and fought the urge to scream. 

Ellana’s heart began to beat in her chest. A fear surfaced in her mind, one that with the evidence she had seemed realistic. 

Had Solas gone on a mission and not been able to tell her? Was he hurt? 

Or even worse, dead? 

She had to teach in an hour. The notion pulled her momentarily out of panic. A superstitious part of her wondered that if she didn’t cancel class, it would ensure everything would be alright. Ellana would see what terrible thing awaited her in Solas’ office and then make the decision. 

Her feet wobbled when she stood and stepped out from behind her desk to grab her coat. Running as fast as she could across the quad, she reached the science building in record time, almost collapsing in the threshold. 

Scanning the entryway, she looked over to Solas’ office, seeing that the lights were on through the gigantic frosted windows that separated his lavish workspace from the general coming and goings of science students and lab attendants. 

A mistake, she repeated herself. Solas was here. He had to be if the lights were on. 

Walking over, she peeked into the gigantic space. Dagna was hurriedly taking down lab reports and flipping through the pages, throwing them to the floor when there was nothing to find. A beleaguered looking Leliana was sitting in Solas’ leather chair, sobbing into her arms. 

Ellana was certain then: Solas was dead. 

“What did you do?” She yelled at Leliana. Her voice was at a near shout. The accusation helped her take back control. It was easier to be angry at Leliana rather than Solas. Ellana, after all, had never been this angry before. 

The red-headed woman looked up at her. She had a delicate face that reminded Ellana of a porcelain doll. The ugliness of her tears streaking down her face was a brutal sort of beauty. Hard and pronounced. 

Leiliana bit her trembling lip. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, wiping at her cheeks. “I know you were close.”

The woman began to shake violently as Dagna walked over to put her hand on her shoulder. Such an emotional outcry, Ellana was sure, indicated her lover was dead. 

“N-no.” Ellana screamed, falling to her knees. She knew outside that the students in the office were awkwardly staring at the spectacle. She didn’t care if they gaped. It felt like a hot serrated knife was being slowly dragged through her middle. 

Certainly, the students knew about the rumors of Solas’ other occupation. If he were dead, it would be hard to deny such a thing otherwise. 

Leiliana squeezed her eyes shut, clutching a folder to her breast. A sharp inhale and exhale, and measured breaths followed. 

Ellana didn’t track being pulled up---Dagna or Leliana must have done it and brought safely into the privacy of Solas’ office. Or someone guiding her into one of the felt chairs that was adjacent to Solas’ glass desk. It could have been minutes or hours for all she cared. A void germinated in her chest, dark and unrelenting. It was as if all the joy she had felt was being pulled out of her body by a vacuum. 

Remembering the first time she had visited Solas' office, Ellana thought about how vexed she had been. She’d give anything to go back to that moment, to have some more time. All she wanted was more time. 

“Ellana,” Leliana breathed next to her. It was the same voice she had used when Ellana had been recovering in the hospital. 

A hand was on her shoulder: Dagna. 

“What is going on?” Ellana was asking anyone in particular. She would accept an answer from anyone that might have it. 

Leliana sighed. It was a painful sound. ““My agents are looking and have found no trace of Solas. He has simply vanished.” 

“Vanished?” Ellana was incredulous. 

“I’m afraid, knowing Solas the way I do, if he does not wish to be found. There is nothing likely we can do.” 

Leliana took another inhale. Ellana could see by the way her expressions twisted that she was working hard to stay collected. She hadn’t realized, until that moment, how much Leliana cared about Solas. There was no faking this type of reaction. It softened her dislike of the spymistress. 

“I thought. Perhaps he might return at any moment--or that he had no choice. Only…” 

“Only?” Ellana held onto the last shred of calm she was capable of. It was a fragile sense of peace, driven only by being able to unwind any possible thread to make sense of the chaos spiraling around her. 

Leliana slid the bound papers she had been holding earlier. The sound of it skidding the glass surface grating.

Looking down at the papers, Ellana began to shake her head. She was so overwhelmed. She doubted she could make any sense of the documents. A large wax seal, red like blood, was on the top. The imprint of a wolf at the top. 

“Tell me,” Ellana said, fingering the ribbon impressed in the wax. 

“He’s signed over all of his assets to you. His condo in the Skyhold building. His funds, his--”

“I don’t want any of it.” Ellana pushed back. The tears began to stream down her face. Silent and burning. “None of it.” 

“I know.” Leilana cajoled her, stroking the top of her hand. Ordinarily, the touch would have made Ellana recoil, but something about the palpable pain she shared with Leliana made her find comfort in it. 

Doing her best, Ellana tried to count her breaths. Her eyes darting around the room, looking for anything to hold onto. She noticed how sterile the office was suddenly. Not a single strand of dust. The Moleskine notebooks that Solas rigorously jotted notes down in were gone. Not a solitary example of his handwriting could be found amidst the papers in Ellana's view. Not on the shelves, or piled on his desk, or in the heap that Dagna had thrown on the floor. Solas must have removed all evidence of what he had been thinking, Inquisition related or otherwise. 

It was as if Solas had never been there at all. 

What would possess him to do such a thing other than immediate death?

Being pulled between her worry for Solas and not knowing or having any control over the situation worsened Ellana’s growing sense of heartbreak. 

“Ellana, there is one last thing you should know. The collection of works by Mythal, he signed that over to you as well.” 

The hairline fracture that had formed in Ellana’s resolve began to crack rapidly. Hunching over, Ellana began to sob. Unrelenting gasps. She struggled for air. Not bothering to repress the unpleasant noises that erupted from her. Her discipline, her determination, and her willpower eroded away, grief overtaking her in one fell swoop. 

Hands attempted to steady her and failed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might end up being slightly longer than 100 chapters (but we are getting close to the end)


	86. The One Where Ellana Has A Terrible Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More feelings.

**CHAPTER 86**

“Everything will be alright, _da’len_ ,” the spirit cajoled Ellana, putting down lavish dishes in front of her. Ellana took a sip of tea, not thinking, or more accurately, not caring about the past warnings of her Keeper. In any event, consequences didn’t seem to have the same threat level as they usually did for her. 

“Where do you think he went?” Ellana asked the spirit. A wind whipped through the lavish kitchen halfway between a gust of air and a wave. 

The spirit shrugged, humming as it clinked together stew pots and saucepans. The sound of butter sizzling for longer than it would in the waking world, signaling to Ellana that she was dreaming. 

\---

Ellana woke in the gigantic bed in the upstairs bedroom she had, upon until that morning, shared with Solas. Brushing against a large shape, she thought for a few moments she might have fabricated Solas’ disappearance. A bad dream. Blissful and sitting upright, Ellana quickly discovered it was otherwise. The lump was not Solas, but a body pillow. 

She was still in the suit she had worn to campus. The feeling of her pantyhose clinging to the sheet scratching her legs. The fabric clinging to one another felt too heavy on her body. 

The view of all of Val Royeaux was before her. In a way, it was cruel to see so much of the city exposed to her, knowing it probably that Solas was not within its boundaries. The day was at the edge of darkness, a hot pink light--so much like the painting Solas had shown her days ago-- spreading out on the sky. Had her life changed so rapidly again? 

Hushed voices passed along in the hallway. She could overhear Dorian and Bull whispering to one another. She wasn’t sure when they had arrived. Leliana had driven her back to the apartment. Ellana’s chest had seized, her breath grew short, and she hit the edge of the desk in an attempt to recover. 

“Lie on the floor,” Leilana had recommended, helping Ellana down to stare at the white ceiling above pebbled with sprinklers from the fire safety system. 

Floating dots of white clouded her vision. 

“I didn’t mean to react that way,” She said later in the car to the red-headed spymistress. The shock was beginning to wear off. The aftermath of her panic attack had left her feeling hollow and embarrassed. The intellectual part of her knew it was a proportionate response, but Ellana rarely allowed herself to be so visceral in her emotions. Never openly. 

“This is all a shock,” Leliana assured her, coming to a halt at a stoplight. “I shouldn’t have told you about the letter so suddenly. I’m sorry, I’m not thinking strategically, or more importantly, considerately.” 

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Ellana said in wonderment. She knew that the two had been close work associates, but that had come with a level of dysfunction; she wasn’t sure translated into a loving relationship. 

“He was my friend. In many ways, my closest friend.” Leliana admitted, a hitch of her breath betraying another wave of sobbing. 

It was comforting, in a way, for Ellana to have a partner to mourn with. She was glad, at the very least, not to be alone. 

Ellana was in a daze. Stumbling with the apartment code, Leilana punched in a series of numbers and escorted her to sit on the living room couch. It was unlike her to be so fragile or confused, but every small thought edged up to the realization that Solas was missing, more than likely in terrible danger, and that she might never see him again. 

“I have to teach,” Ellana said with a sudden burst. She made her way to the door when Leliana gently grabbed her and escorted her back to the couch. 

“Dagna emailed your students.” 

“What will they think? The day after Spring break?” 

Leilana chuckled in the first moment of levity Ellana had experienced all morning. “They’ll be relieved because none of them did the reading. Do you teach tomorrow?”

“Not until Wednesday,” Ellana admitted, appreciating the time--but for what? To sit in an empty apartment waiting for another terrible thing to happen?

Another nod, and Leliana went to the kitchen. Ellana could hear the cabinets bang and the sound of water running. She didn’t have the energy to offer help or to stand up to investigate what the spymistress was doing. Part of her recoiled at the idea of being so close with someone she had interpreted as dangerous. Another part of her hoped that it was all sort of gigantic joke and that Solas would walk in again with a repentant grin and a bundle of unfurling irises. 

\---

It was the phone call that landed her in bed again—an amazing thing considering the conversation that Leliana and Briala had with Ellana at the dining room table. The three women had sat over steaming bowl-sized cups of tea, chatting about nothing at first. Ellana noted the few furtive glances that the Chief of Staff and spymistress shared. It wasn’t the kind that old friends did, but of predators who had relented to share the same stretch of territory. 

The whole scene of the three women sipping tea gave new meaning to the phrase “ladies who lunch.” 

“We are as surprised as you are.” Briala began. “Arrangements had been made between us to propose to Solas that we leverage some of Mythal’s artifacts to have Andruil extradited.” 

“I see,” Ellana said. On an intuitive level, she had been aware of some of the machinations of power that Solas was adjacent to in his other life. She had never expected to come upon them all so suddenly, or completely. Or most importantly, without him. Her head was spinning. 

“The day that he was to pick you up at Halamshiral, we were going to tell him our plan, but he asked to postpone until after the conduct hearing. We thought that would be a kindness.” 

“I didn’t know. Obviously, I knew about his past, but not the finite details.” 

Leilana gave an exasperated huff that gave Ellana pause.

“That wasn’t directed at you,” She immediately corrected. “Solas is the master of secret-keeping. He has a gift for it.” 

“Why was he in Minrathous?” Ellana burst out. It was a question she had verbalized out loud to anyone that might have the answer. She was sure that there were other, more salacious or pertinent questions to be asking, but this was the one she had wondered at the most. 

Leliana gave her a confused look, her head turning slightly. “He was investigating a report about a time travel device that Andruil might have used to locate the Orb. A magister--Felix’s father--had manufactured it. It didn’t end well. That is why he is teaching here, in Orlais under the Inquisitions protective eye.” 

“How do I know you are telling the truth?” Ellana countered.

“You don’t,” Briala continued. “You have to decide for yourself.” 

“Why are you helping me?” At least, Ellana interpreted Briala and Leliana’s efforts as help. The women were fading away from their offices and becoming people. It was a difficult truth to fathom. 

“We aren’t, _really,_ ” Leliana said. Ellana flinched at the coldness. “That should reassure you. We need to find the Orb. Giving you more information will help us all. I thought that your relationship with Solas might...well, I thought the two of you were on track to find it.” 

“A gamble, considering the result,” Ellana said wryly. 

“What matters now,” Briala interjected “is what comes next.” 

“Ellana,” Leilana said gently. “Did Solas ever tell you about Andruil?” 

There was no threat, or malice to Leliana’s words, only worry. Ellana braced herself. 

“Nothing. Why?” 

“Solas was a double agent,” Leliana continued at a resolute pace,” The first time we brought the Evanurius to justice, he was instrumental in doing so.” 

Ellana knew most of this story, even if she hadn’t pried. She had always assumed the toll that the death of his adopted mother had weighed heavily on Solas. It was an easy binary: the Evanuris were evil, and Solas was good. Now she saw that the dynamic was much more complex. 

“Solas had a relationship with Andruil. It was a facade on his part. She was quite taken with him. When she attacked this winter, she confronted him about your relationship. I sense some jealousy.” 

Ellana felt like someone had punched her. It was so obvious in retrospect, had she chosen to examine Solas’ omissions.

“We aren’t sure,” Briala said, sliding a black and white image over to Ellana, who picked it up. It was of Solas getting into a luxury sedan. She recognized the driver as Andruil. Her face was obscured by a set of expensive designer sunglasses and thick lipstick,” If he was trying to leverage a deal of sorts, or had gone willingly. This was shortly after he left his apartment.” 

“How did you not realize this?” Ellana accused. “You are both supposed to see everything.”

“Love can cause you to overlook all sorts of things.” Leliana breathed. “I trusted Solas, as you did.” 

Ellana was about to snarl out something cruel when her phone went off. Usually, it was silent. Sometimes on vibrate when she was expecting a call. On the car ride home, she had turned it back on again. 

Just in case. 

Ellana froze, seeing the call was from an unknown number. 

“We can trace the call,” Leliana urged her plaintively. “For all we know, he needs help.” 

Ellana clicked the icon to hear static.

“Solas?” She said hopefully. 

  
“Listen, I only have a few seconds.” His baritone voice answered. 

“Do you need--” She was about to say help but was cut off again by his voice.

“I'm sorry, you are right to be angry,” he protested. “I want you to know, though, whatever happens, what we had was real.” 

The past tense of Solas’ statement caught Ellana off-guard. It wasn’t a break-up. It was an ultimatum. Again, to what? 

Ellana was about to beg him to come back home, to say that the two of them could figure it out. Reassure him as he had her so many times in the past. She didn’t get the opportunity to. Static began to play on the other end. 

It all came crashing down on her. 

Solas hadn’t left her for another woman, although it might look that way on the surface. The apartment was indication enough of that, the money, and the art--it wasn’t to apologize. It was because he didn’t expect to come back. 

Ellana dropped her phone onto the hard tile floor. It shattered upon impact. She couldn’t breathe again. 

\---

“Do you think she’s hungry?” Dorian fussed. Bull’s voice was too low to hear. For a while, her friends gossiped outside the doorway. Some of their worries made it through the closed door about the situation. Bull liked Leliana. Dorian didn’t quite trust her. Briala was searching through the kitchen, dumping out any small container she could find. Leliana was uncorking wine without a care in the world. 

Everything was a mess. 

“Bull,” she called out, stumbling out of the covers. The doorway seemed so far away. 

“Hi,” she could hear him say as the door cracked open. The two met in the middle of an empty square of carpet, staring at each other as Dorian lurked outside in the hallway. 

“Solas said that if anything ever happened to him, I should go to you.” A warning she had always remembered. “That you were the only one he trusted.” 

“Wow, _really_?” The qunari preened a bit, his chest muscles rippling under a sweatshirt with the rugby. 

“I don’t know what to make out of this shit storm.” 

“Well, boss, I think you have to start at the beginning.”

\---

Ellana was holding a faded letter in one hand, a glass of dry red in the other. She was sipping it without taste. It was one of the most expensive bottles in Solas’ reserve. Leliana had insisted on uncorking half of the remaining stockpile for them to pour haphazardly into glasses as they made plans. A petty theft, Ellana was sure, imbued with great meaning. 

Briala was on her cell phone, mixing Orlesian with elven phrases, cryptically mixing the two languages so that not even Ellana could keep up with the meaning. 

Bull and Leliana had exchanged a few trade stories, like one would a play-by-play of a rugby game. She wasn’t sure what to make about learning more of “the Nightingale.” The moniker had certainly impressed Bull. 

Ellana had barely listened, studying the slip of paper that Leliana had handed her with a furtive glance. She had explained, in a voice too calm for the subject matter, how Solas had brought it to her after their trip to the reservation. 

“Keeper Hawen gave this to him?” Ellana was reading the compact letters. “It mentions me by name, but I wasn’t born yet. Come to think of it. My parents weren’t born yet. How is this within the realms of possibility?" 

Leliana shrugged. “I was hoping you might have more of an explanation.” 

Ellana took a sip of wine and then another. It burned a bit, sliding down her throat. Strangely, she wasn’t overwhelmed by the idea of Solas’ adopted mother time traveling or engaged in the appearance of such an act. No, it was the introduction to a seemingly never-ending chasm of secrets Solas had withheld from her. What else was there? 

Even if Solas were to return, the relationship between them would never be the same. 

“I-I, can’t think of any. This is all impossible--” 

She could feel Dorian reach over and place a hand on the back of her chair. 

Briala stopped talking and looked over with a wary glance, erupting in Orlesian. “ _C’est impossible, mais c’est vrai.”_

Ellana closed her eyes, shaking her head, overwhelmed by the absurdity. Surely she would wake up any moment now. 

“I need some air.” 

\---

Ellana stepped out onto the balcony through the living room. The first time she had ventured out onto the deck, she had been terrified. With nothing but sea in front of her and building above and below, it had made Ellana feel contradictorily claustrophobic. 

The door slid open and then closed. The frigid outdoors brought Ellana immediate relief. The sharpness of the cold allowed her to recover some of her mind from panic. She knew it would still take time for her to reconcile the events of today. If such a thing were possible, but it was a starting point. 

A few minutes later, the glass door slid open again and shut. 

“I’m so angry at him,” Leliana announced, stepping next to Ellana. “I can only imagine how you must feel.” 

Ellana paused, trying to formulate her emotions into tiny compact sentences. The cruel and unrelenting day had taken so much out of her. It hurt to remember Solas' confessing his love to her. It also hurt to think that she might never get to ask him what he had been thinking. If he had been thinking, instead, she asked a basic question, one that gave her equal fear and hope; hope that she might find Solas; fear that it might be too late: “What comes next?” 

“Saving the world,” Leliana said with a cunning glance in Ellana’s direction. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	87. The One Where Ellana Voyages On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More plot building, some Fade walking. Mostly sadness.

**CHAPTER 87**

In retrospect, it was obvious to Ellana that Fenris would call. Even after he had left for Denerim, they had shared the occasional polite text. Sometimes, he would send a new image he had been working on, asking for her opinion. There wasn’t the same kind of warmth that had been there before, but its familiar quality offered Ellana steadiness. 

**“** Hi, Cass told me to call.” Fenris’ voice fed through the receiver. At first, Ellana thought he was scolding her, but then she caught the concern. 

“Commanded it might be more accurate,” Ellana joked. It was the first joke she had made since Solas’ departure. A month had passed, and still, there was no word on where he had gone. 

“She said that she didn’t have the patience or necessary sensitivity to deal with your recent misery but was worried about you.” 

“That’s quite a lot. I’m glad she can be supportive.” Ellana replied sarcastically with a jerk of her body that made the words come out stiff and angry. 

“La.” 

“I’m ok.” 

“You don’t sound like yourself.” 

Ellana bit her lip as she slammed the dishwasher closed and moved over to sit on the yellow couch next to a large window overlooking Val Royeaux. 

A week after Solas had left, she had moved all her things down to an apartment on another floor of the building. It was smaller, a two-bedroom. She had wanted to go back to her studio apartment. Still, Leliana had dissuaded her of the notion, arguing that outside of the palace, that Skyhold condominiums were the safest place she could be. 

“It’s been an appalling few weeks.” She shrugged, realizing that the gesture didn’t translate to the phone conversation. “I don’t know what Cassandra told you.” 

Cassandra and Gaylen had helped her pack away the remaining things in her studio apartment and later gone with her to dinner as the movers unassembled and reassembled her furniture. They didn’t talk about anything in particular. Occasionally, over her salad, Cassandra would give Ellana a chilling look, one that made it clear that she was annoyed about her friend ignoring her warnings. 

“She said that Solas left without a word and that no one can find him. I gathered--”

“It’s not prudent to talk about the details over the phone.” Ellana interrupted. “I’m safe, but...I don’t know who is listening.” 

Fenris knew enough about what had passed over the last few months not to ask too many questions on the subject when directed. However, Ellana could hear him grumble a bit. He hated to be powerless. 

“Do you want me to come to Orlais?”

Ellana paused. When she had picked up the phone, she expected the offer. Running her hand over the yellow fabric, she surveyed her new apartment. The surroundings had helped Ellana regain some traction on her independence. If Fenris came, she wasn’t sure that’s what she’d have. 

The pause went on a little longer than was pleasant. 

“I’m not angling to get back together,” Fenris said with his usual rough bluntness. “I’m worried after that conference. You--”

“Had the shit beaten out of me by a deranged Orlesian noble?” 

Fenris laughed. He loved gallows humor. 

“I think I’m ok. It’s uncomfortable. When the semester is over, I was thinking...that is, were it alright with you…” 

“You want to move back to the commune.” Fenris succinctly offered. He always knew how to finish her sentences. Rather than finding it annoying, Ellana had always appreciated it. Especially when they were younger, it had helped her find her way forward out of shy adolescence. 

“If I can. Do you think that’s a possibility? I’m trying to finish out the semester for my students, and then after that--” 

“Of course, La.” His voice grows business-like. Ellana isn’t sure if he’s being transactional out of a defense mechanism or simply politeness. 

“Thank you. I appreciate it and your call, Fen.” 

“I know we have had some bad episodes, La. Only you were there for me at my worst. I want to return the favor.”

“Is that you or your therapist talking?” Ellana knew she was the only one who could tease Fenris so brazenly.

“Definitely my therapist.” Fenris laughed again in a way that made Ellana feel as though they were getting much better at just being friends. 

“You’ll call?” Fenris repeated. 

“I will.” 

“Please ask for help if you need it. You’re like a _fucking_ cat.” 

“A cat?” The simile was lost on her. 

“High pain tolerance. They don’t show sickness until it's late in the game.” 

Thinking of the scene she had made thinking Solas had died, Ellana wasn’t sure it was a particularly accurate description of her at the moment. Something about it, however, cut at her. A few tears streamed down her cheeks. 

“I know it isn’t the same thing, but I keep thinking of my parents and being kicked out of the clan. I thought I had worked through it all, but this recent hurt brought it all out again.”

“It always fuses, doesn’t it?” A sharp intake of breath signaled to Ellana the type of empathy that she wished that Fenris had been able to give her in their on-and-off relationship. The rhetorical question was something that had been seemingly impossible to him when they were together. 

“La,” he continued. “I’m not the most impartial here, but that night in Denerim when we were looking for you, Solas was ruthless. You could feel how intense his magic was. I don’t understand why he left. Do you think he meant to? There is some twisted shit here.” 

“I’m sorry, but it’s a little weird for my ex-boyfriend to be vouching for another ex-boyfriend.” 

“Are you broken-up?” The surprise in Fenris’ voice rattled her. It wasn’t a hopeful question on his part, only a request for clarification. 

Ellana could make out the sound of a car passing in the background. Fenris was smoking outside. She pictured him slumped out of the window, playing with a strand of his shaggy haircut in confusion as he was pulled between his own self-interested feelings and commitment to be a supportive friend. 

“I don’t know,” Ellana sighed. “It doesn’t feel over.” 

Late at night, when Ellana couldn’t sleep, she had imaginary conversations with Solas. Her mind plays them out in the type of excruciating detail that she usually dedicated to analyzing artifacts. In some scenarios, Solas made a compelling apology, explaining away that he had been kidnapped or some other explanation that made-up for how much pain she was in. Other times, she screams at him, throwing every single plate in his apartment to the floor to shatter. Each new calculation provided some relief, only for it to vanish later. 

She wanted to extinguish the hope that Solas might return. A hard truth to verbalize out loud. 

“You know you can call,” Fenris repeated. “Whatever you need.” 

“Thanks,” she repeats. The emotional intensity rising again on the surface of the silence they share for a few more prolonged seconds. They don’t say anything, but there is a seemingly clean end to their romance. It’s a reprisal from the conversation they had in the tub, naked, when Solas had driven her back. The bracket is comforting for its tidiness. 

For a while, Fenris talks about his new project explaining how he’s exploring the diptych. When the semester is over, Ellana made plans to come out and see the works where they’ll be on display at the small three-floor contemporary museum in Denerim. The date on the calendar is a reminder that the current pain of the moment would pass. 

When she hung up the phone, Ellana knew that there were no longer any romantic feelings shared between her and Fenris with unwavering certainty. Any lingering attachment was nostalgia. 

The cleanliness of the ending brought Ellana some satisfaction. She turned on some music, old string arrangements that are neutral enough that she can think but serene enough to fit her unwelcome solitude. For a moment, she thought she might get a drink at one of the bars, if only to be around other people. That desire shifted almost simultaneously with a gnawing sensation, a reminder of how uncertain that the future was for her, with or without Solas. 

\---

“Please, Solas,” Ellana was begging, “Look at me.” 

In the Fade, her despair was harder to repress. In the waking world, she’d never make such a scene. In the immediate days following his departure, Ellana had sat on the living room couch waiting for his return. It was unlike her to be so desperate, so she stopped. 

Solas was always wearing a wool coat. His face was sullen and sad. For a moment, they make eye contact in a way that Ellana is certain that he’s behind the pale blue eyes looking back at her. He’s not a mirage or a trick. In many ways, Ellana would prefer if he was. 

This new nightmare had replaced the recurring dream in the unknown kitchen. She’s walking in a field of snow. She guessed it's her conscious recreating their visit to the Dalish reservation and the long walk from the car to Var Bellanaris. 

Somewhere along the way, Solas appears. Without fail, he’s too far to let her close—a lone stranger in the distance. The moment Ellana senses his presence and runs up to speak to him, he vanishes into fog. 

\---

Ellana had not forgotten Solas’ warnings about Leliana. Every night, at ten o’clock, the spymistress visited her apartment. Until bed, the two sip from coffee cups that Ellana stole from Solas’ upstairs. It’s the only possession she willingly took from the estate he left to her. 

The two women had spent hours reviewing archaic documents and records and putting all the pieces together from what Leliana kept repeating as “the beginning.” In reviewing Solas’ report on their trip to the reservation, Ellana noticed that the whole thing was notably rife with omissions. The chamber they had encountered was devoid of any mention of physically walking through the Fade. 

When Ellana discovered the omissions, she found it initially cruel. On paper, the Solas’ secrets took on strange finality that for a time bolstered her resolve to keep things from Leliana. One evening, however, frustrated with their lack of progress, she relented. 

“The report about the reservation.” Ellana started hesitatingly. “There are a lot of missing components to the story.” 

Leliana gave a smug smile that signaled to Ellana that she had suspected as such the entire time. Was it a trap?

Ellana summarized her findings. When she gets to the point about her magic she inhales sharply and demonstrates for the spymistress. She's gotten stronger, somehow, in a way she can't explain. Leliana's eyebrows practically rise to her scalp. 

“We walked into the Fade. In the chamber, we were transported there, physically. I found more information..” Ellana’s hand went to her forehead, a defensive mechanism. “There was a Chantry sister, Sister Justine. She might have also slipped into some of the spots that the ancient elvhen…”

“Wait, I know of her writings.” Leliana stewed, chewing on a pen cap. 

“You do?” Ellana was surprised.

“I’m a Chantry sister,” Leliana responded as if such an answer was obvious. Gazing at the deep purple tracksuit that the spymistress always donned, Ellana remained incredulous. 

“Besides, the Inquisition has all the artifacts. The _real_ ones anyway. Do you want to look?” 

Ellana nodded. _"Of course."_

"I have to apologize," Leliana began. 

"What for?"

"I underestimated you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of an hour ago, I'm officially on vacation! Going to bang this fic out. Do some re-writes, and move on to the next one. (Think we might end up at 110 chapters tho).


	88. The One Where Ellana Thinks the Fade is Boring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one here.

**CHAPTER 88**

“These wouldn’t have belonged to Shartan,” Ellana announced. It was the day after her rogue confession to Leliana. Despite her heartbreak, she was excited for the access to the hidden vaults of the Inquisition. If the spy agency had what the Nightingale termed the “real” relics of Shartan, Ellena couldn’t help but wonder what else lay in their holdings. 

It had been some time since Ellana had looked so intently at an object. The blade in front of her was made out of a thin copper rusted to a pungent green. It had taken Ellana a few searching looks under a magnifying glass to realize that the elbow-long sword was not made out of jade or another stone, it was too thin, and the way the corrosion collected in the incised glyphs confirmed that the artifact was in fact metal. 

“How so?” Leliana asks. For a moment, Ellana was worried that the Chantry sister might reject her findings out of piety. Never before, as an art historian, had she been so certain. 

“Well, it is Elvhen, but prehistoric. Perhaps older than anything I’ve ever seen before. The writing on the side is curious. You might recall the prophecy that Sister Justine wrote about, these correspond to each of the animals, but the meaning is a bit deeper.” 

“My grasp on the Elvhen pantheon is fuzzy,” Dagna said in the background. The dwarf had arrived before Ellana. Even if she had not been told beforehand that Solas’ former assistant would be present, she didn’t find it startling or intrusive. The pair had formed an unspoken allyship of sorts, united to find Solas for their own reasons, and redeem him if necessary. 

“It’s changed. There is the “way,” which the Dalish adhere to that’s been watered down over time to be more about forces and elements rather than a religion that personifies any deities. There is evidence, that is variously incorporated and denied by different clans, that before the fall of Arlathan, there were corresponding animals that embodied the will of the cosmos. You might recognize some of the underpinnings of the human stories in constellations, for instance. Most elves don't really take these ideas seriously except in a whimsical way. New Arlathan, more so than the Dalish.” 

“What significance do the animals have?” Leliana asked, moving to hunch over the blade. Ellana appreciated how intent she was and open to learning more. 

“Coordinates, really. Directions or suggestions. The Elvhen pantheon is concerned with balance. This was a tool in some ritual to align everything in the right way.” 

“ _ Right? _ ” Leliana stutters. The word hangs her up. Ellana wanted to explain that to the elves, good and evil were more relative but stopped herself. The spymistress was smart enough to figure out that binaries were not a given to people outside of Andrastianism. 

“It’s like that orb,” Dagna interrupted with a cheery smile, “The one from the scan. It is about relationships, some key,  _ really.  _ If we can find the right constraints... _ ”  _

Ellana looked down at the blade again. It was as long as her torso. That is to say. It was big and unwieldy. It would take all of her strength to lift it from the white gauze pillow it rested carefully upon. 

“If Sister Justine took this from a place similar to where Solas and I entered in the reservation, it's possible that she confused it for something else. That happens in religions.” Ellana mused. She was thinking out loud. “She might have thought elves a concept rather than a time period.” 

“Did you map out the coordinates of Sister Justine’s pilgrimage?” Leliana asked Dagna. It was helpful to have a scientist. Ellana thought that the data might be helpful. 

“I did, but there isn’t any pattern to them, and half of the sites don’t exist anymore.” 

“Var Bellanaris?” Ellana asked. 

“Not on the map.” Dagna shrugged. 

“I had agents visit, and the door is...as you described it,” Leliana continued, “It’s faded and looks like normal stone. There isn’t a keyhole.” 

“So does that mean the Veil is active in regulating itself?” Ellana asked as a poet might, thinking in metaphor rather than quantitative meanderings. 

“There’s usually some science behind a ritual,” Dagna sagely countered. “I think we’re missing a piece, It looks like there is some shape when I pin all the sites that Sister Justine mentions in her books to a map, but mostly it's just incoherent.” 

“Hmm,” Ellana marveled. “Dagna, what about that scholar who supposedly dated the Veil. Do you think he’d be helpful?”

“He’s a drunk.” Dagna laughed. “Banned from Orzammar.” 

Leliana laughed like someone carrying a secret. “I know Oghren. I don’t know how helpful he’d be. It’s worth a shot, though, for us too.” 

“This is all so confusing to me,” Ellana thought. She could feel her brain trying to absorb each new piece of the puzzle and faltering as it worked through any number of possibilities. 

It was impulsive, but she picked up the sword. Tired of only looking. Despite her better judgment, she did it knowing what might happen, having done so with other ancient items in the past. The moment she touched the blade, green mana spewed out in every direction. Ellana didn’t balk at the rupture in the room, a prism that distorted the air around it. It’s a sliver, but it's enough to be worrisome—a rift in the Fade, a moment out of legend, but now an immediate threat. 

Cowering for a moment. Ellana stood up. The first few times she had faced something familiar, she had been frightened. She had repeated the scenario enough to be dull. A wave of her hand, and the conference room was righted as it had been a few moments prior, serene and polished. The leather chairs lined up in a straight row on either side of the long table. The rift sealed away. 

“So not only can you close portals to the Fade, but you can open them as well,” Leliana observed, staring at Ellana with some disbelief. Dagna was frantically taking down notes, her calculations dense across the beige paper. 

“That’s not like Solas,” Dagna confirms the Nightingale’s unvoiced thought. “He’s not the same.” 

“You are something different,” Leliana observed again. The wonder in her eyes only making Ellana nervous. 

“Do you think Solas knows?” Ellana mirthlessly said, she felt vulnerable at how her powers had surfaced so rapidly in a way that as if they wanted to be discovered. “He alluded as much.” 

“I think we should assume Solas knows more than we do and is capable of guessing with great accuracy how we will try to figure out what we will do next, ” Leliana said in a distracted voice, reading her computer screen. “We should hope, however, that his loyalty lies with you and not Andruil.” 

The idea occurred to Ellana for the first time, loud like a slamming door. Up to that point, she had largely ignored the fact that Solas had left with another woman. For some time in intense silence, she deliberated if she would use the word “with” or “for” to describe his motivations. She fixated on her memory of a sensuous face that she might never see again. 

Solas had said that he loved her.  _ Ar Lath Ma  _ was a phrase that was not easily walked back. It was finite in a way that few things were. Surely that had to count for something? 

"I wonder," Leliana said, her hand tucked underneath her chin, "What does this give you access to that Soals doesn't have. Maybe we should look there." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. I went through today and did a major re-write on this fic. There is now smut in chapters 53 & 54 (which I'll probably play with throughout the entire week). I'll be trying to push this along pretty fast as I'd like to selfishly start a new project.


	89. The One Where Ellana Has Another Terrible Day

**CHAPTER 89**

“You’ll figure it out soon, _da’len._ ” 

The dreams of Solas have stopped almost completely now, and Ellana was back in the kitchen. According to the spirit, she had gotten better at chopping herbs but believed the improvement was due in no large part to the fact that the Fade is a forgiving place, and if she ruins a tomato, her willpower can mend it. 

Ellana wished she had the same power in the waking world. 

\---

Working at the University of Orlais grew more intolerable as the semester raged on. Ellana trudged through the drudgery, finding with some self-loathing how she couldn’t entirely divest herself of the place. Mostly because of how much she cared about her students. 

It was perhaps the unhappiest she had ever been in her life. She only had one more week, however, until the semester was over. 

News of Solas’ conduct hearing and his disappearance had made its way around the faculty gossip circuit, and Ellana found herself being gaped at in a new way, which was saying something as a Dalish elf. All the armor she had built up over the years faded away. 

The few times Ellana attended a department meeting or lecture, she could hear the other faculty whisper about her. Before, when the rumors were groundless, it had been easier for her to ignore. Now it felt like death by a thousand cuts to listen to endless speculation of why one of the universities’ most prestigious professors had vanished. 

“Were you in a relationship with Professor Fen’Harel?” Wynne had bravely asked her over a shared tea in her office one afternoon. 

Ellana had looked up to the ceiling, unable to speak for a moment. She knew the senior faculty members’ words weren’t intended to admonish her, but Ellana couldn’t help but momentarily bristle.

“Yes. After the library,” she said decisively, hoping to put the timeline into words that Wynne would understand without adding too many details. “Neither of us knew about the policy, but I’m unsure if that would have stopped the progression.” 

“I always liked Solas,” Wynne said. “He’s hard to know, though. Are you OK with him leaving so suddenly? There are rumors that I can only guess at for accuracy.”

“It was a shock, but I think I will be fine.”

After she said those words out loud, Ellana realized it was true. 

“It’s different for men in academia. I hope he realized what he’s done to your career. I’m here if you need a reference.” 

“I’m not quite sure how to judge what Solas is thinking at the moment. Considering that there isn’t much of a dialogue. That is to say. I appreciate your offer.” 

“I think the way this institution has treated you is abominable,” Wynne said, slamming down her cup. “Vivienne wasn’t even supposed to be Chair. You threaten them.” 

Wynne’s admission of senior faculty gossip confirmed for Ellana, more resolutely than any conduct hearing, that it was a matter of time that her career at the prestigious university was inevitably over. 

“I think I might open a gallery,” Ellana admitted. “Or go back to Minrathous.” 

Neither would happen if she couldn’t find the orb. 

“You’re going to land on your feet. It’s your way.” Wynne assured her, resting a hand on top of hers in a way that reminded Ellana of her mother. In a good way. 

“Thank you,” 

“At the very least, the exhibition sounds fantastic. You can leverage that for whatever comes next.” 

\---

“Should we grab a bottle?” Leliana announced when Ellana opened the door. 

It had become an unspoken ritual that whenever Leliana had bad news, they would go upstairs to Solas’ apartment and steal another bottle of wine. It technically wasn’t stealing because, on-paper, Ellana was the owner of Solas’ estate, but its thrill seemed uplifting to Leliana. 

“Most of these he got as gifts, lucky bastard,” Leliana would justify as she sorted through the bottles. “Half the time, he can’t even drink them because he's on call. We are doing him a favor.” 

Ellana resisted pointing out that Solas would probably never find out about the theft but thought that she’d go along with Leliana’s questionable form of optimism as an act of kindness. 

“If you have the capabilities to procure the relics of Shartan, do you not also have the ability to find your own rare vintages?” Ellana teased. She and Leliana, despite her best efforts, were quickly becoming friends. 

“It tastes better,” Leliana shrugged, pouring out two servings. 

“I think I’ve been overserved,” Ellana said, accepting one of the glasses noticing that if she drank the entire glassful of bubbly, she’d be decisively drunk. 

“Briala and I were successful in leveraging works with Arlathan for an extradition deal,” Leliana said abruptly. “Only, Solas and Andruil have disappeared without a trace.” 

As their new caretaker, Ellana had signed the paperwork to release the artifacts to the Orlesian government for the agents to barter with. It had been painful to think of giving away some of the hoard to the city-state, given that once released, it was unlikely that the relics would be available for study, hidden away forever by nationalists. 

“Weren’t they always missing?” Ellana said, her eyes moving over to look at the Waking Sea, following a group of sailboats cutting through the water. The lights flashed mournfully on the surface like teardrops. 

“This is different. For a while, the Inquisition would receive whispers of unconfirmed sightings. Now it's as if they hadn’t existed in the first place.” 

“What were the unconfirmed sightings?” Ellana asked. She had done her best to mitigate her jealousy, finding it to be an unproductive emotion. Mostly, because if she gave in, she knew she’d not be able to stop picking apart imaginary scenes of Solas with Andruil. 

“For a while, they were at parties, garnishing support from among the Arlathan elite.” 

“As a couple?” Ellana feigned disinterest, swishing her glass about. 

“No,” Leliana sighed. “Sort of in a weird way that politicians do. That’s stopped now, and well. Andruil is a sadist. Alexius, Felix’s father, was found dead on the streets. I’ll spare you the details, but I think in some psychopathic way, it was a signal to say that the next part of her plan is ready.” 

“Creators,” Ellana exclaimed. “Do you think Solas took part in whatever--?”

“No, Solas never was one to be cruel. Well, not in any violent way. Some of the things he saw in Arlathan the last time he was whatever with Andruil haunted him. Badly.” Leliana fingered the stem of her wine glass as if the small act had the power to push away ghastly recollections. “I haven’t told Felix yet. I’d appreciate--”

“Of course,” Ellana said, making a mental note of Leliana’s forthrightness and decided to return the favor. “This is an abrupt subject change, but I have to ask. When Solas called, he wanted me to know whatever happened, that what we had was real. What do you think he meant by that?” 

Leliana paused, glugging down the entire portion of her wine glass, and poured herself another serving. 

“I think Solas does love you. However, I think that the part of himself that was made in Arlathan is at war with that part. Only, sometimes I wonder--”

“The orb?” Ellana said miserably. It seemed that no matter what she was doing, it all led back to the elusive artifact that had the power to end the world. She already knew what Leliana was going to say before she responded. 

“I think the part of Solas that was made in Arlathan desires that sort of power. It’s why he’s denied himself so many things--job offers, a family--even being the keynote speaker at conferences--he doesn’t trust himself with those things. The Orb and its search have fashioned his whole life. It’s a shame considering how brilliant he is. ” 

It was Ellana’s turn to sip on her glass of champagne. A sort of fear was building in her as she replayed her discussions with Solas in the aftermath of their romance. There had always been a darkness lingering at the edges of their romance that she had new, somewhat terrifying context for. 

“We had a falling out shortly before he left. I put him in a bad situation. I think it's part of why he left.” Leliana paused, taking another big sip. Ellana saw her gaze turn to the ocean and then back squarely on her face. “We were going to let Andruil capture him and then trace him. I didn’t want to tell him if he would try and leverage his own deal, I couldn’t trust him, and in turn--” 

“I don’t know,” Ellana interrupted generously. “I think if what you are saying is true, there is a little bit of an inevitably to this all. What do you think he would do with the Orb?” 

“I don’t think we should wait and find out,” Leliana suggested, her brow twisting mournfully. “We should find it first.” 

\---

After Leliana left, Ellana made excuses to wash the delicate stemware and pick up a bit. 

For the few days after Solas had vanished, Ellana had slept on the downstairs couch with the misbegotten hope that he’d return any moment. It startled her to realize how much she missed him despite the murky circumstances. She resisted the urge to wallow. As hurt as she was, she refused to be desperate. Hence the move to the downstairs apartment. 

Still, the conversation with Leiliana had rewoken her grief. 

Walking up the stairs, she spent a few moments running her fingers over the books in Solas’ office. She stared a bit at the spines trying to determine which ones he might have read more. 

Entering the bedroom, Ellana opened up the walk-in closet. Solas hadn’t taken any of his clothing or packed a suitcase. Everything was in the same place as when he had left. 

Ellana fingered some of the soft cotton of a white button-down shirt. Closing her eyes to pretend she was touching Solas’ arm. She pictured him reading his newspaper at the Dining Room table in his reading glasses. 

Grabbing one of the shirts from the closet and pulling it off the hanger, she breathed deeply into the fabric. It still smelled like him. 

In a daze, she stripped off her own pants and shirt and slipped Solas’ clothing on, the hemline comically falling below her knees. 

For a few moments, she stared at the perfectly made bed before peeling back the covers and crawling between the sheets on Solas’ side. Burying her face into the pillow, Ellana inhaled Solas' scent that still lingered on the surface of the bedding. 

It did little to ease her tears. 

\---

Ellana worked with feverish zeal to finish the exhibition. . It was a bit unhealthy, but there was little else driving her forward that she felt belonged to her. The exhibition, after all, had never been Solas’. He had enabled it but had very little to do with its execution, conceptually or otherwise. 

Despite the obstacles, Ellana was proud of the final product. The night before it opened, she and Dorian had walked through the gallery to check that there were no miscellaneous scuffs on the walls or typos in the exhibition texts. 

It wasn’t a large show, and Ellana was certain that many would not appreciate the rarity of the elven artifacts united in display. Still, she had spent a considerable amount of time fidgeting with the track lighting to ensure that the shadows each of the figurines cast was elegant. She loved making small details like that possible Late at night, they had taken on a spooky quality that Dorian admired and termed as “full of soft ghost feels.” 

Ellana had curated a few exhibitions before. Mostly apartment galleries and a few outdoor sculpture exhibitions at Pauper Ranch. Her rigid attention to detail had never had such an outlet before, nor the resources to realize such a professional show. Although much of her life was currently on fire, seeing the framed brain scans on the wall, along with the ancient artifacts resting on their plinths, made her feel proud to have accomplished one thing that academic year. 

One last time, before turning off the lights and locking up, Ellana double-checked the wall's vinyl lettering. It reassured her to see it so flat and level on the wall. 

The next day she was shocked to find workers peeling back each letter with palette knives. 

At first, she thought the deinstall was a mistake, but when Ellana spotted the wooden packing crates, open and ready for the artifacts to be packed up, she realized that some other foul game was at hand. 

“What is going on?” She asked the workmen who looked at her as if she was incomprehensible, so she repeated herself in Orlesian. 

“Oh, darling,” She heard Vivienne call out behind her from the entranceway. “I think we need to talk.” 

Ellana hadn’t seen Vivienne since that night she had caught Solas and her in the apartment. That afternoon she found her sallow in a double-breasted ivory pantsuit. Her expression was mournful, but Ellana mistrusted it. 

“I don’t understand.” Ellana realized she was shaking. She was glad that Vivienne was a mage, so she might feel how angry her mana was bouncing off the walls. 

Ellana was dressed in her favorite black dress from Minrathous, carrying a small clutch made out of black beads that swung in her shaking hands. She had been looking forward to the opening reception, where she could enjoy trays of sugary prosecco and small talk with nothing dire. 

Her plans had once again fallen apart. 

Vivienne swallowed nervously. It was the first time Ellana had seen her placid facade melt. “Considering Solas’ absence, the faculty conduct board thought it would be best to cancel the exhibition, given his unseemly conduct.” 

“Professor Le Fer,” Ellana scowled through gritted teeth. “We both know that my private life has nothing to do with this cancellation. Really, you couldn’t have canceled this. I don’t know last night--” 

“Vivienne, darling.” The correction only fueled Ellana’s rage further, pushing her off the edge. 

“Enough!” Ellana could see Cassandra and Gaylen peering through the glass windows, with Dorian and Bull walking towards the door. Her face was red and humiliated. “What is your fucking problem? Are you so insecure that you have to power trip at every fucking opportunity?” 

A stillness settled over the gallery, and Ellana was aware of eyes watching the whole exchange with the type of rapt attention she hated to be the center of. 

Although Ellana knew she would later regret the words that flew out of her mouth, it brought her some satisfaction to see Vivienne cower a bit. She was certain no one had ever spoken to the curator like that in her life. 

“Viv,” The singsong voice of the Nightingale rang out, quiet and forceful. A few seconds later, she felt Leliana’s hand rubbing her arm and back. “This doesn’t seem to be necessary. It’s a lovely exhibition, and Ellana worked very hard..." 

“This isn’t my doing,” Vivienne replied, her hands falling to her sides, palms turned up like a pertinent Andraste statue.

“What?” Ellana interrupted. “This is entirely your fault."

“Listen, Ellana.” Vivienne continued with none of her usual performative relish. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position. I’m sorry for filling out the report. I didn’t think that it would lead to this outcome certainly--” 

Ellana turned again to look at where the vinyl lettering was. The workers had haphazardly peeled off the letters in no real order, some of the words still intact, or only missing a few letters like a burnt-out neon strip mall sign. Her eyes darted to an unresponsive Vivienne who looked at Leliana as if waiting for instruction. 

"It's not enough to be sorry," Ellana retorted, shaking her head, turning on a heel to flee out the gigantic glass doors of the gallery space, shoving past her worried friends, to Fade Step out the front door and into the spring air. 

Some birds sang hopefully in the background. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it is 2020 I feel the need to tell you that this is the last chapter for a while where Ellana is going to be in Solasmancer hell. Things will get better next round (spoilers: Varric is the best). 
> 
> Shirt scene is inspired by In This Shirt by The Irrespressibles. 
> 
> I did some wine-induced editing and writing when I went on vacation. Some regret. I'll do some line-by-line over the next few days.


	90. The One Where Varric Makes Most Of It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I have one regret for this fic, it is not enough scenes at the Kirkwall.

**CHAPTER 90**

The moment that the exhibition failed to open, Ellana drifted to Kirkwall like a sad plastic bag drifting along an asphalt street. 

She had meandered through the campus greenery. Ignoring a few friendly waves from her students as she turned down the sidewalk to the train station back into the city. Ellana got on the first carriage that passed, unaware and uncaring of where it was going. A drunk had muttered knife-ear when she had first stepped into the train car. She’d switched cars at the next stop. It wasn’t long before Ellana’s cell phone started buzzing. By the third ring, she turned it off without looking at the caller ID. 

If her suffering over the last year had earned Ellana one privilege, it should be that she didn’t have to explain the failure of the exhibition opening to her friends. 

In the early months, Ellana had first moved to Denerim off the Dalish reservation. She had always felt like she was an extra in a movie. Now, in Val Royeaux, she felt the same way watching the cinematic blur of giant skyscrapers mixed in with the traditional stucco apartments that had been converted to large boutiques and tiny studio apartments. Blue walls and gold fountains dotted the landscape like bits of glass sparkling on a beach. 

Ellana allowed the train to whip her around the center of the city a few times before stepping off onto her old block, where her studio apartment had been. She had left her jacket back in the gallery coat check. Clutching her purse to her breast, she felt for her wallet and keys inside. It was cold. She had to go inside as it was starting to rain. 

“I was wondering when you might show up here,” Varric announced the moment she crossed through the threshold of the Kirkwall.

The bar was empty except for Ellana and Varric. Through the window behind the oak countertop, she could see a few cooks milling around in the kitchen, prepping for the night. It was early, and if she’d have the place to herself for a while. 

A drink or two, and then she’d go home to her empty apartment—a liminal space to sort through things. 

“Who doesn’t want to lick their wounds at Val Royeaux’s finest establishment?” Ellana weakly smiled, plopping down at the bar next to Varric. She hadn’t seen the Dwarf since Solas had left, although she was positive he’d already heard the whole story from Dorian. 

“Wounds? I heard you’re having a rough few weeks,” Varric said, catching her eyes with a knowing gaze. ”Come with me. I have just the thing.” 

Ellana followed obediently behind, thinking at first that he’d lead her to the private room with Dorian’s paintings that she usually surprised for him to open the door to another space with red and gold damask wallpaper and a quad of plush velvet chairs with small tables fashioned in a semicircle. 

“My office,” Varric announced as he turned on a gas-lit fireplace. “Have a seat, and I’ll be back after a bit. Relax?” 

Ellana sat in silence for a bit, kicking off her shoes and wrapping her arms around herself. It was the first time in a while that she forgot her troubles. Her eyes blinked drowsily, and she fell into a meditative stupor watching the flames. 

Sometime later, a loud thud jostled her awake. Varric entered, carrying a large plate of charcuterie and two mugs. Without any pageantry, he handed Ellana the entire serving and a cup of tea. 

“You have this pinched look like you haven’t eaten all day,” Varric said, plopping down in the chair next to her and pulling out a flask to add some whiskey to his own serving. He held it up, offering it to Ellana, who shook her head no thanks and gave one painful laugh. 

“Eat!” he urged her again. 

Ellana was about to protest that she wasn’t hungry when she looked down at the dish in front of her. It was filled with homemade buttery toast along with some smoked salmon and creme fraiche. On the side, there was fresh-cut cantaloupe—all of her favorites. 

“Are you being so nice to me because you have a writer’s block?” She teased, reaching out to squeeze Varric’s arm with great affection. 

“Absolutely,” the dwarf nodded with a grin. “Mostly, I don’t have anyone challenging to play Wicked Grace with lately.”

Dorian had teased her that she had become one of Varric’s favorites. The mage had told her that it was a courting phase that was the prelude to becoming one of the characters in his novelettes. First, he’d lay on the charm, and then he’d kill you off a book or two later in the series as embarrassingly as possible. All of this, Varric denied. 

“That’s because you cheat at cards,” Ellana retorted dryly. It wasn’t true, but Varric laughed, slapping the armrest. 

“How do you always win if I cheat?” Varric said, pulling out a deck of cards from the inside of his breast pocket and shuffling them with a snapping sound. 

Ellana had never played Wicked Grace until her last visit to Kirkwall. The dwarf had bullied her into it and regretted it instantly as Ellana had cleaned everyone else out in rapid succession, even Solas, who had previously been the reigning champion, and won over fifty gold, which she promptly used to buy everyone drinks. 

“Thanks for cheering me up, Varric. Things have not been great, and this evening was terrible.” Ellana breathed and out in measured breaths, a few tears spilling down her cheeks that she wiped quickly away. 

“Dorian said that you’d be here a little later, made a reservation and everything. I thought you had a big shindig this evening. You’re in a fancy dress, and everything.”

“I’m afraid that my relationship with a certain Chuckles negated any critical contributions I might make to the university, and that exhibition I was working on was abruptly canceled.” 

She was surprised the first time she and Solas had come to the Kirkwall together at how close the dwarf and her boyfriend were. The nickname had made her laugh, mostly for how Varric kept shooting Ellana, knowing looks whenever Solas laughed. He always made a small huffing sound as if he was surprised to find anything funny. 

Varric sipped on his tea a bit before speaking again. Ellana could tell he was careful, and she appreciated it. 

“You can always curate a show here. Move the stuff over?” 

Ellana smiled, this time warmly, picturing priceless elvhen artifacts in white gallery cases in the dusty rafters of the Kirkwall attic. 

“That is something to consider, thank you. Truly, thank you.” 

“Really, I think we’re on to something here,” Varric said. “It is good for business and--” 

A knock on the door interrupted Varric’s business proposition. 

“La,” Ellana heard Cassandra’s voice on the other end. 

“Cass?” She called out, arching her eyebrow at the door as it opened, revealing Cassandra, Bull, and Dorian. 

Standing, she dropped her clutch.

“I knew you’d come here,” Dorian announced smugly. 

“Hi,” Ellana began sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I went into flight mode.” 

All four of her friends began to talk over each other simultaneously in a mixture of “It’s OK” and “Tough day..” Ellana was surprised when Dorian slipped her coat around her shivering shoulders. The gesture reminiscent of the first time he had found her outside on the quad after she had scolded Solas. 

“I think we _all_ understand,” Bull summarized when the chatter came to an abrupt halt. 

“We found her. Yes, you can call off the search.” Ellana overheard Cassandra speaking into her cell phone. 

“Drinks?” Varric asked. “Dwarf Pick?” 

Everyone nodded in unison. 

“Yeah, I can help you carry things,” Gaylen offered. He couldn’t help but be obliging at every opportunity: his best and worst quality. 

“Thanks...Scruff?” Varric said, looking at Gaylen’s ever-present stubble. 

The two men chatted on their way out the door, and Ellana was left with Cassandra, Bull, and Dorian surrounding her, staring intently, startled when she felt all of their arms wrapped firmly around her, holding her steady. 

“Ok, this is too much,” Ellana laughed when the embrace lingered past her comfort zone. 

Collapsing into the chair again when she was free, she moved over as Dorian smushed himself next to her, his strong cologne omnipresent as he grabbed a piece of cantaloupe and shoved it into his mouth. 

“I love you,” She said, planting a collegiate kiss on his cheek, which earned her a smug giggle. 

She watched as Bull reclined on the floor, and Cassandra sat across from her, crossing her arms, looking like a stern gargoyle in her slate gray pantsuit. She was still wearing her ID badge from work. 

“What happened after I left?” Ellana asked Dorian in a whisper. 

“Madame Snow Bitch, tried to intervene and have the show open.” He said quickly without taking a breath. “She tried to pretend that the workmen had incorrect orders and were at fault. She threw an absolute fit that only someone that cold and ruthless is capable of. No yelling, just a litany of uncomfortable passive-aggressive questions that felt like she was clawing out their throats and making them say thank you for being on the receiving end of her cruelty.” 

“Why would she want the show to open?”

“I think she miscalculated her-- _whatever_ she was up to. She was really mournful in a way I’ve never seen her before, almost kind. That chick, Mockingbird or whatever, that’s always wearing a purple tracksuit kept encouraging her, saying ‘it’s alright, we’ll figure it out, Viv’ in this uncomfortable way as if Vivienne Le Fer were actually capable of feelings.” 

“Creators,” Ellana said, overwhelmed by imagining the whole spectacle. “I mean, closing the show only makes her look bad.” 

Dorian nodded, then held in his breath. At first, Ellana thought he was about to break bad news but realized he was trying to collect himself from laughter. “Then, Sera showed up. She was dressed nicely and had showered for once, in this short black velvet mini-skirt and fishnets. She started screaming about a conspiracy, which made Leliana momentarily worry and call in Blackwall, who just stared at the entire thing as if he was questioning all of his life choices. Especially as she started shouting about that damn beetle again, which he had zero context for except for the name Shartan.” 

“Creators.” Ellana started laughing in a way she hadn’t allowed herself since Solas’ departure, nearly falling out of the chair, taking Dorian with her. 

“So, in the end,” Dorian said between heaving breaths, “given how much had been packed up and the emerging student protest, Vivienne conceded, shutting up the gallery. Her assistant printed off this sad sign and taped it to the door. Water leak, or whatever--that’s when we realized you were really gone.” 

“What did Leliana do?” Ellana didn’t want to risk making the Inquisition angry. Her security protocols relied on her cooperation. After all, she was a rule follower. 

“I think she knew where you were the whole time, mentioned something about you heading here, and said we should meet you.” 

“That’s not creepy.” Ellana appraised. 

“I know you must hate the surveillance, La,” Cassandra said knowingly, interrupting for the first time, “Only, it’s for your own good.” 

The old friends stared at each other for a few strained moments. They hadn’t exactly been on the best terms since the dinner party, the fact that Ellana had wanted to remedy but hadn’t had the emotional reserve to mend. 

“I’m going to go check on Varric and Gaylen,” Dorian offered, standing to escape out the door to the main stretch of bar. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my involvement with the Inquisition. I work for the lawful side of their Chantry business,” Cassandra said awkwardly. 

“It’s Ok. I didn’t exactly mean to keep my side of things from you either, only…”

“You have to keep it secret.” Cassandra finished. 

Ellana moved to join Cassandra in her armchair, wrapping her arms around the prosecutors’ shoulders before her friend could spurn her affections. “I appreciate that you were trying to help and warn me about Solas. I thought I knew most of it.” 

“I like Solas. He has a good reputation and clearly loves you, but..”

“Disappeared without saying good-bye the night after confessing his undying to collaborate with a known terrorist?” 

"Yes," Cassandra said, squeezing her back for the first time. "Oh La, I'm so sorry this year has been so miserable for you." 

"I'm glad you are here, and that we can live in the same city at least," Ellana said, leaning back to watch the fire again. 

“Do you ever think it would be easier if everyone just followed the law?” Cassandra mused innocently a few minutes later. “Rules and all.” 

“I do,” Ellana laughed. 

“You know, Lala. Maybe we have a few options for you at the university.” Cassandra announced smugly. “Legal ones. Some settlement funds at the very least.” 

“I like where this is going,” Dorian interrupted, standing behind the chair, returning with some bottles of wine in his arms. 

"Tell me all about it," Ellana said, watching Dorian sprawl out in front of them on the floor like a child ready to have a book ready to them at storytime. 


	91. The One Where Vivienne Finishes the Game

**CHAPTER 91**

In her last class of the semester, Ellana was moved when her students presented her with a gift of cheap carnations. The petals were ragged, but she knew it was a heartfelt gesture on their part and almost cried over the thoughtfulness of it all when Sera threw the bouquet down in front of her on the podium with an exaggerated courtesy. 

“We really liked your class, yeah.” The art student said eagerly. A few of her cohort members in thrifted ensembles nodded behind her. 

“Thank you. This class was such a joy to teach. I really appreciate how hard you all worked throughout the semester,” Ellana said in such a way as if speaking to everyone but flashing a wink at Sera. “Bravo! What fine papers as well, it was the finest writing I’ve read in my teaching.” 

Sera’s essay had not even been close to the finest writing Ellana had ever come across, but it was clear that she had put time and effort into it. It was mostly cogent, with only a few diversions about how serial killers were a metaphor for rampant commercialism and a few random footnotes about inclusive insect policies within the museum apparatus.

Ellana gave her a C+. Enough to pass. An outcome she and Dorian made plans to celebrate later, even if he was also putting in his notice to the University that afternoon. 

Ending her class on a good note helped quell the nervousness that Ellana felt when she made her walk over to Vivienne’s office for her year-end performance review. She had preemptively packed up her closet-sized space and moved her books back to her apartment box-by-box throughout the last week. She already knew that she wouldn’t be teaching next semester--voluntarily or not--but the measure gave her some control over the situation. 

Ellana was startled to find Vivienne’s white decor shrouded by bolts of black silk and tulle fabric as if it were some soothsayer grotto. The curator sat at her desk, waiting for her, wearing an ebony veil and a long, multilayered sable gown that only exposed her tear-streaked face and bejeweled hands. 

“Pardon, Professor Le Fer, is everything alright?” Ellana truthfully didn’t care. The question was a polite one only. 

“Thank you for asking, darling.” Vivienne began, her voice quiet and raspy, “My dear husband, Bastian, passed away. It was expected, but I’m sure you can understand how difficult it all is.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss. My sympathies to you and your family,” Ellana said with a little more genuine remorse. 

For a moment, the two women sat in tense silence while Vivienne opened up a shiny black folder and pulled out a few stray pieces of paper. 

“That is kind of you to say, especially after all that you’ve been through this year.” Vivienne continued unexpectedly sympathetically. “I think it shouldn’t come as a surprise, Ellana. The university has decided not to renew your contract for the next year.” 

Ellana would have blanched at the statement, however, expected, but she had come prepared. 

“The only surprise, Professor Le Fer, is that I have chosen not to pursue legal action at this time.” The words that Ellana had carefully prepared the night prior with Cassandra’s guidance came out in an efficient staccato. “After all, it is against university policy to discriminate against anyone based on race, gender, or sexual orientation.” 

“Yes, dear, but in this instance, _none_ such thing has occurred. What ugly talk.” 

Ellana pulled out a plain folder from her briefcase, slapping it down on the table with a small huff. She and Cassandra had charted out each small instance that Ellana had been targeted by her colleagues for her Dalish heritage, along with the supplementary evidence. The individual incidents added up to a thick pile of paper. 

“What is all this?” Vivienne asked with feigned sympathy. She put on a large pair of cartoonish reading glasses, giant white circular frames that took up half her face. Skimming each incidence, her name listed, among them, caused her to look uneasily up at Ellana. 

Ellana knew it was probable that any Val Royeaux court would throw out the charges. The news stories, at the very least, would be damaging. Even if she had seemingly become a supporter of her overnight, Vivienne would not be painted in a flattering light. 

“I see,” Vivienne said, taking off her glasses and chewing on the stem thoughtfully. Ellana didn’t say anything, knowing that any sudden movements might cause her to lose any gains. She was determined to win the war, even if it meant not getting in a few extra satisfying jabs. 

“I wish I had fully recognized the actions of our dreadful colleagues until it was too late.” Vivienne sniffed. “Given their mistreatment, I’m sure we both can agree that perhaps teaching here might not be the route you’d like your scholarship to take.” 

Ellana cocked her head to listen. Vivienne sounded defeated. 

“Under my leadership, there is a post-graduate fellowship that has not been filled for some time concentrating on ancient art. It’s a stipend for emerging authors--a category we could consider you as--it isn’t much, but perhaps it is a lateral move you might consider?” 

Ellana covered her mouth in thought. It wasn’t an outcome she had considered. Writing another book was something she had wanted to do. She had a few drafts sitting in her desk drawer, waiting to be marked up. Only, she hadn’t the time or resources to fully commit to another book. Additionally, the “lateral move,” as Vivienne called it, would erase any of the perceived disfavor on her CV. 

“Given Professor Fen’Harel’s disappearance, perhaps it is an advantageous time for you to seek additional publication given his warrantless polemic,” Viviene said kindly. “ _Fade Objects_ was a brilliant debut, and I think you could do better.” 

“Thank you, Professor Le Fer. Why don’t you show me the terms of this fellowship, and we can discuss the possible next steps.” 

Vivienne called out to her assistant, who brought out a stack of print outs. Ellana was able to negotiate twenty-percent more funds, paid in advance, and the assurance that Vivienne would write a strong letter of recommendation for her to use in the future. Terms better than she had expected upon walking in. 

Raising, she was surprised to see Vivienne outstretch her hand, offering it to Ellana to take. “The exhibition was truly some of the most magnificent work I’ve come across in my career. I regret the part I played in its premature closing.” 

“Why all the bluster, then? We could have been colleagues.” Ellana breathed, shooting a piercing stare at Vivienne’s way. A barely imperceivable flinch surfaced on the curator’s face. 

“It’s Val Royeaux, my dear,” Vivienne shrugged. “Welcome to the great game. You could have handled it as an equal, we both know, if you weren’t playing another one entirely.” 

\---

Ellana strolled along the quad with a lightness that she hadn’t felt since her time in Minrathous. Students celebrating the end of the semester milled about in a frenzy, while some lounged on the lawn having impromptu picnics with beer bottles wrapped in brown paper. Drinking was against campus policy, but given the context, she was certain security would look the other way. Faculty in suits were also exuberant, some of them congregating to gossip, while others drank coffee watching a large group of students play frisbee in one of the central lawns. 

She was jealous of the thoughtless ease of the university community. All she had wanted when she had arrived in Val Royeaux was a sense of belonging. Instead, she had quite the opposite experience. She had expected it to be difficult her first day on campus but couldn’t have anticipated how or in which way. 

Passing by the sidewalk stretch where she met Solas, Ellana sat down on a bench and stared at it for a little while. She had proceeded past the notorious shrub a few times, but now, free of teaching, she looked intently at the branches Solas had pulled her out of remembering how striking she had instantaneously she found Solas at first glance. 

Briefly, Ellana wondered what she would tell herself that first morning they had met if she would tell herself to run or try and assuage herself that the romance was worth it. In many ways, Ellana knew the verdict of Solas’ effect on her life was still undecided. 

Another question gripped her, if the university wasn't the place where she was going to build her life, where should she go? More pertinently: What should she do? 

\---

“I thought I might find you here,” Ellana said to Leliana when she went back to her office to pick up her last box of miscellaneous office supplies. The Nightingale was sitting in her swivel chair, her feet up on the desk, texting on a satellite phone. 

“Hi,” Leliana said, not looking up at her directly. “How did your meeting with Viv go?” 

Sinking into the plastic chair opposite Leliana, Ellana summarized the discussion, ending with, “Did you have anything to do with this post-graduate fellowship?” 

“Would you refuse it if I did?” Leliana said thoughtfully, setting her device down. 

“Of course, I like to be self-sufficient.” 

The two had already had several debates about the ethics of Ellana using any of Solas’ estate to buoy her next venture. She knew that hypothetically, she didn’t have to worry about money anymore, but couldn’t bring herself to use any of the funds. Leliana insisted that it was fine, only to suggest that the Inquisition offer its support instead the next day. 

“I didn’t,” Leliana said, her eyebrows arching. “I think Viv thought highly of your work, even if it might not appear that way. In any event, you outmaneuvered her in the game, a rare outcome, so she’ll sing your praises whenever you ask--” 

‘Viv?” Ellana repeated. “To be honest, I’m not sure what you see in her.” 

Leliana chuckled a bit, pulling up the hoodie on her tracksuit. Ellana knew she wouldn’t receive a comprehensive explanation, either about the current state of Leliana’s romantic life or how she currently felt about Vivienne. Although she suspected their reconciliation was unavoidable without a husband in the picture. 

“Now that you are no longer a professor, what will you do with your time?” The spymistress asked, pulling her feet off the table and leaning over to look Ellana directly in the eye. 

“I was wondering if you might be willing to add some support to a new cause of mine." 

“To find Solas?” Leliana said with a smile. 

“Yes, to find Solas.” 


	92. The One Where Solas Appears Again

**CHAPTER 92**

“Everything is underway nicely. There isn’t much to do now but wait,” The spirit said to Ellana. The two were shelling peas, throwing the green seeds into a giant bowl that never seemed to be filled. 

“Why do I always come here? Who are you?” Ellana asked. It had taken her months to work up to this question, as when she woke up, there were a few flashes of the kitchen, but like a ballerina practicing their dance steps, it had taken months of repetition to gain control of the scene. The spirit she kept meeting was strong, although not violent. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” The spirit shrugged. “Immediately, if I’m correct.”

\---

The sound of her door buzzer jarred Ellana out of her dream. Rising, she grabbed her intricate robe off the back of her desk chair and peaked through the peephole. Peering back at her were the violet eyes of the Nightingale. 

“Hi,” she greeted Leliana with a drowsy yawn. A few months ago, she would have found the spymistress’ presence worrisome, but now, it was a common occurrence for her to show up at odd hours with unusual news.

“There was an explosion outside of Arlathan,” Leliana announced, refusing to elaborate until Ellana rode the elevator up with her twenty or so floors to Solas’ old apartment. Briala was waiting for them both, hanging up her phone mid-sentence as soon as the door opened. 

It was two in the morning. The view over the sea was dark and foggy, the horizon line indistinguishable from water except for the few passing spotlights of airplanes overhead. 

Ellana sipped on tea. She had refused the glassful of red liquid that Leliana had offered her watching with detached interest as the Nightingale and Briala had compared two vintages in-between skimming through intelligence reports on their tablets. 

Touching her cheek, Ellana grimaced to feel her skin red and taut with the start of a sunburn. Evidently, she had not put on enough sunscreen.

Summer had started. In the week since leaving her university position, Ellana had packed away her suits in carefully labeled garment bags, pulling out her small supply of gauzy summer dresses and a swimsuit. Dorian, also unemployed, invited her over that afternoon to pass the day blissfully sunning themselves on his condo building’s rooftop pool, sipping lemonade and pretending they were on the beaches of Minrathous. 

Judging by the doleful look that Leliana was giving her, Ellana was glad she had taken the day off, as it appeared as if any leisure she'd enjoy was about to put on hold. 

“We are still gathering reports from the area, but there was what we think was an explosion outside of Arlathan.” 

“Wait, you think there was an explosion?” Ellana had learned to be as specific as possible with Briala and Leliana as, on occasion, both women lied by omission or skipped over facts. She was certain it wasn’t conscious, just a well-practiced habit.

“It's strange,” Briala started. “There is a crater and a lot of toppled trees. It was big enough that our satellites picked up the activity, but there was no flame, and agents who arrived at the scene reported no radioactive activity.” 

Ellana rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t sure why, however unusual, other than the explosion's proximity to Arlathan, why she had been dragged out of bed. 

“Eyewitnesses reported that they saw two figures that match Solas and Andruil’s descriptions,” Leliana elaborated with a pointed look for Ellana to pay attention. “When our agents reached the site, however, there wasn’t any sign of, well..casualties or bodily remains as would be common in these situations.” 

“If it was hot enough, wouldn’t the remains evaporate?” Ellana asked innocently. She wasn’t a scientist by any means, but the rationale seemed like common sense to her. 

Briala and Leliana stared at each other silently. At first, Ellana thought that the two might laugh at her. Instead, she realized quickly they were playing a game of mental roulette to see who would break the bad news. 

“We’ve collected some photographs from a nearby gas station and camera…Well, here.” Briala shoved a print out towards Ellana. It was on heavy paper--an expensive print job. Looking down, Ellana had some trouble comprehending what she was seeing. The figures in the picture were definitively Solas and Andruil. Only there was a lack of any concrete substance to their bodies at all. Their image floated on the page, like a faint outline, as if they were a ghost or spirit. 

“A trick of the lens?” She wanted to explain how she’s seen the same sort of thing happen in early photographic experiments. Artists were able to layer negatives together, creating intricate scenes of their subjects. 

“There is some footage from a weather camera. It’s the same.” Briala asserted, crossing her arms. “It's them, but it's not.” 

“It’s almost as if they are…” Ellana began not knowing how to finish her thought.

“Lyrium ghosts?” Briala suggested with a wicked grin. Ellana shook her head. Outside of horror movies, no such thing existed. Considering all the unusual experiences she had over the last year, she briefly considered it, but reexamining the photograph made Ellana think that there was some ineffable spark to the expressions on Solas’ face, his eyes darting about wildly as he raised a hand as if to defend himself. 

“I don’t think so,” Leliana said. “That might be foolish optimism on my part, but…on the footage, the two seem active, engaged in some heated discussion. We are trying to get a good enough copy to see if we can read their lips, but that’s unlikely.” 

“Was the explosion on the map?” Ellana asked. 

Over the last week, Ellana and Dagna had sorted through more of Sister Justine’s reports, cross-referencing secondary literature and feeding the information into a large computer algorithm. They had yet to find any cogent pattern to the data they had mapped out, but at least five sites corresponded to old Elvhen ruins. Included in the list were some locations Ellana had written about her dissertation. 

Leliana nodded affirmatively. “It’s not clear what caused the explosion or why it took place there.” 

“Was there a ruin like the one we encountered in Var Bellanaris?” Ellana asked. She had initially thought that locating the orb would be as easy as finding another door with the same insignia. Only that hypothesis had quickly faded as there was no other similar door or clue as to how she and Solas had been able to walk through the Fade physically. 

“No, it was an empty field,” Briala responded, carefully inspecting Ellana’s face for any reaction. 

Shifting her gaze between the two women, Ellana asked with some desperation, “Do you think they could be in the Fade? If so, how did they get in?” 

Leliana cocked her head, listening intently. 

“A projection of sorts into the waking world? The explosion could be as if they are upsetting a balance of sorts? The ancient elves had rituals to keep the equilibrium in place. Perhaps they 

“Literally pulling the world apart,” Leliana breathed with sudden understanding. “Do they have the Orb?”

“I think we would know if they had the Orb,” Briala chimed in. 

“Do you remember the story Solas told of Mythal clutching the Orb? How it disappeared when he went to grasp it?” Ellana said to Leliana, who nodded as Briala gave the Nightingale a piercing stare, unhappy to be left out of the conversation. 

“Do you think it went back to the Fade? Is that why…?” Ellana trailed off as her mind raced. 

“I think that is a notion we should consider.” Leliana appraised, leaning back in her chair. “Mostly, we are running out of time.” 

Abruptly, Ellana rose and wandered over to the living room. Leliana and Briala didn’t stop her, debating what the other causes of the explosion might be and Leliana elaborating on the details of Mythal's death for what sounded like the first time. She and Dagna had taken to working in the space, setting up a makeshift lab in the place of the furniture they had shoved to one wall. Gigantic flip-charts littered the ground, with bullet points and incomprehensible calculations. 

In her discipline, art history, Ellana always had a way of promoting the object to speak to her. It was more than iconographic analysis, but a synergy between her and the material that softened over time. She’d stared at any number of small miniatures and manuscripts, identifying small clues or phrases that unlocked the past to her understanding. 

She tried to convince herself that the problem at hand was no different, that if she willed it enough, that the maps in front of her would be similarly generous. Staring down, however, all she could see were blocks of incomprehensible text that blurred into one another. 

  
  



	93. The One Where Ellana and Felix Commiserate

**CHAPTER 93**

“For all our active engagement with subterfuge, we sit around a table talking about nothing with no conclusions an awful lot.” Ellana mused as Leliana and Briala argued over the depleted wine supply. Leliana bragged that she had a spare key to Solas’ offsite storage facility. 

“That’s very philosophical.” Leliana teased, holding up yet another glass of red wine in a mock toast. 

“The higher up you are,” Briala joined in, “the more of your life is just  _ fucking  _ paperwork.” 

“Although, in this instance, I’m not sure what there really is to do except wait for another incident.” Leliana shrugged. “I know that is not the answer you want.”   
  
“You’re correct. That’s not a reassuring statement.” Ellana agreed. Picking up the Nightingale’s wine glass and taking a large glug, setting it down with a shake of her head. She couldn’t shake the idea that she was close to figuring out the puzzle but hadn’t found the right way to look at the problem.

It was now midsummer, and Ellana and Dagna had almost completely plastered the living room walls and guest room with diagrams and renderings of ancient ruins until the entire interior space looked to be comically wallpapered in unfashionable landscapes like a family restaurant. 

Leliana and Briala had granted Ellana access to the deepest recesses of the Inquisition’s holdings. She had barely had time to marvel at the extent of wonders they revealed, as none of them seemed aligned with her quest. She could sense a pattern, even if she couldn’t unravel it, spending sleepless nights staring at her ceiling, picturing entire cities of information that flashed and then dwindled into meaningless rubble. 

Ellana was about to confess how worried she was about her ability to solve the problem at hand when the kitchen timer went off in the adjacent kitchen. 

“Andraste’s tit, you’re turning into Solas,” Briala sniffed. The comment would have hurt Ellana before, but now, having inoculated herself against the Chief of Staff’s brash manner, she found humor in the fact that she had, in fact, started setting regular timers as Solas did for everything. 

“I have to go,” she announced, looking at the clock on the stove. She was meeting Felix at her apartment to craft centerpieces for Dorian and Bull’s baby shower. 

After saying goodbye, Ellana took the elevator to the downstairs lobby, finding Felix waiting there carrying large fabric bags of crafting supplies. The mathematician looked wan and slightly disheveled. His hair, usually closely shaved, had gotten longer, revealing thick swaths of brown curls. 

Leliana had broken the news to him about his father. Felix had taken it well on the surface, but after spending a few evenings with him working on the baby shower, Ellana felt a festering wound underneath his good cheer. 

“Did you want anything to drink?” Ellana offered Felix when they made it back upstairs. Opening her fridge, she recited a litany of beverages ranging from apple juice to cheap champagne. 

“Tea, if you have it?” Felix responded before sitting down on the floor cross-legged and unpacking several bushels of fake white flowers to be wound into wreaths. Ellana nodded and put the kettle on. 

“I’m sorry about your father, Felix,” She repeated softly in Tevene, handing him a mug of peppermint tea. She had said the same thing at the makeshift memorial service she had attended, but in the privacy of her apartment, the words had new meaning. “I know how hard it is to lose a parent.” 

In Felix, Ellana recognized similar feelings as the ones she had managed since childhood. A driftless existence that resulted from not having a permanent place to call home. When she was younger, it had been hard to articulate the hurt's exact boundaries, but now as an adult, it was easier for her to understand. 

“When my mother died,” Felix confided, as if opening up for the first time, “it was easier in a way. Sudden late-stage cancer that acted fast. Mostly, it was a relief because she wasn’t in pain for very long. My father never recovered, and it was half-a-decade of watching him slowly destroy himself and our family’s legacy. That was  _ real  _ suffering.” 

Ellana didn’t speak, instead laying a supportive hand on the mathematician's arm. 

“I met Solas before your birthday party,” Felix confessed. “He was there on a mission, partly initiated by me to try and save him before he succeeded. It worked, to a certain degree, mostly in forcing the Venatori out of hiding, but it didn’t have the redemptive effect I had initially hoped for.” 

“Leliana told me a bit of the situation.” 

“He was dabbling with time-travel magic,” Felix shook his head, his body shivering. “A theory that should never be realized. I wouldn’t trust many people with that sort of power.” 

“Creators,” Ellana said, “Did it work?”

Felix shrugged. “I didn’t want to find out.”

For a bit, the two emerging friends sat in silence, sorting glitter and gold chains, along with paper confetti of crawling babies in profile and qunari axes. 

“It is easier said and done,” Ellana said once all the craft supplies were in neat piles, “to watch someone you love make bad choices and understand there isn’t much you can do without their participation.” 

“Yes, I’m sorry, my friend, as I know, that’s probably the bulk of your experience right now with Solas.”   


Ellana noted Felix’s use of the familial tense when he said friend. Tevene had an intricate use of hierarchical speech that focused on distances of intimacy. It was the same words Felix used to describe Dorian, a fact that Ellana found uplifting. When she first moved to Val Royeaux, she didn’t know anyone. Now she had a warm and understanding group of companions. 

“A little easier considering he’s not my father,” Ellana replied in a teasing voice. “It’s a different type of heartbreak.” 

“Yes,” Felix laughed, smiling. Ellana thought about having someone to confide in. “It’s nice of you to do this all for Dorian and Bull. I know they really appreciate the work you’ve been putting into this event.” 

“Right now, I think they are doing us a favor,” Ellana let out a laugh that was relatively warm for how she had been feeling since Solas’ departure. She was rolling up baby onesies for guests to decorate. Most of them she had hand-sewn out of soft, absorbent fabric, Dalish fashion, since she couldn’t sleep. Having something to concentrate on that wasn’t an impossible quest for a long-lost artifact had been renewing. 

“Oh yes, I never expected to make so many decorations.” Felix commiserated. “Although the ones you’ve designed aren't insufferable. I’m impressed.” 

Felix picked up one of the centerpieces where he had layered the flowers around a wireframe, weaving in gold chains that looked timeless yet in rough contrast to the blooms. A difficult balance that captured Dorian and Bull’s aesthetic. 

“Thank you, I think if we did any of the typical froufrou shit that I’ve come across at these sorts of events, Dorian might have a panic attack.” 

“Have you attended many baby showers?” Felix asked in surprise. 

“Oh many, sometimes when I was in undergrad, I’d take the bus back to Kirkwall because my high school friends had gotten married and were having children.” Ellana paused to explain. “The Dalish have children young. I might be the only one in my age group from the clan unmarried and childless.” 

“Ah, no wonder Dorian loves you so much, another misfit. Does it bother you?” 

Ellana put down the onesie she was rolling and quietly inhaled. “No, it used to. Now, my life is so different, and I’m not exactly welcome at the clan, so it's not like I experience much direct judgment for my actual life choices anymore. I’m just sort of this floating exotic entity.” 

“I’m not allowed home right now, either, although, under different circumstances, I’m sure.” Felix commiserated. “Until we find the...thing, you know. The Inquisition is worried that I’ll end up some venation pawn. The device my father made is missing.” 

“As someone who was kidnapped by the Venatori, they seem like the biggest group of idiots I’ve ever encountered so I wouldn't worry too much.” Ellana breathed sarcastically, standing to go to her fridge. Taking out a bottle of cheap champagne, she glanced back at Felix, who nodded. “I haven’t felt much for drinking,” she admitted, going to a kitchen cabinet and taking out a set of flutes she had stolen from Solas’ apartment. “but maybe we should toast to our emerging friendship and eventual reconciliation with the city we love, Minrathous.” 

The joke earned her a genuine laugh from Felix. “I never thought I’d hear those words from a Dalish elf. Although, I’m not sure why, as you’re the only Dalish elf I know.”

Ellana smiled, cocking her eyebrow up at Felix, who was giving her a warm smile. “I’m mostly the only Dalish elf that everyone knows. Truthfully, I’m a terrible example.” 

Felix looked as if about to speak, his lips parting and then closing as he stopped himself.

“It’s ok, I haven’t told many people this because it’s not been very relevant to my life as a former professor, but I’m an exile of sorts. I was training to be the Keeper given my magic, and then turned it down to complete my Ph.D. in Minrathous. I'm welcome back, physically, but banned from participating in any of the rituals. I don’t regret the decision, but it's a little…” 

“Alienating?” Felix offered, taking a sip. “At least that’s how I feel here in Val Royeaux. It's so different than--” 

“Imperium directness and sleek fashion?” Ellana chortled. “Everything is a game, and everyone is playing it?” 

“Oh, Dumat’s scaly spite, there is so much tulle everywhere and ruffles. Everything is caked in these bucolic scenes of fat rosy babies and clouds.” 

“Some of it is ok,” Ellana admitted, flashing a soft smile in Felix's direction. “Mostly, the food--and the friends.” 

“When this is all over, I inherited a summer estate.” Felix paused, shaking his head as if to admonish himself. “Sorry, that’s so incredibly entitled sounding, but I think it would be great to have everyone there and enjoy the beach. Celebrate your inevitable success locating this thing I’m not supposed to know about.” 

“I look forward to it,” Ellana said, clinking her glass with Felix’s. “To new friendships.” 

“To new friendships!” Felix joined in. 


	94. The One Where Ellana Has An Epiphany

**CHAPTER 94**

“I’ve never heard of a baby shower that had a mimosa bar.” Cassandra mused in her usual brusque manner. The prosecutor was wearing a red silk shirt with a pussy bow, cutting up strawberries and pineapple to dress the fizzing beverages. 

“Why, the protest, Cass? Are you pregnant?” Gaylen said with a wicked grin, feigning grave injury as Cassandra playfully swatted at him. 

Ellana had just arrived, driven over to the event by an excited Blackwall. She had ridden in the back seat as Josephine and the Grey Warden had happily chatted about the upcoming party. The couple disappeared into a nearby coffee shop for a few hours as the party was set-up. 

Ellana was dressing a long table set-up for the event with Felix. Their intricate centerpieces formed an s-like shape over a gold table cloth, small pots of paint pens, and glitter tubes layered between for the single activity of the afternoon: painting onesies. Another folding table was also quickly converted for gifts and covered with intricately wrapped gifts waiting for Dorian and Bull to open them. 

The doorbell rang, and Ellana walked over to the door. “Hi,” Dorian beamed the moment she opened it. He was wearing a large ribbon corsage tied on his chest, with tiny plastic babies--both qunari and human--placed in the center. 

“Welcome!” She said warmly, ushering in her friends. Gaylen ambled out of the kitchen, offering both men a full hug, patting Bull on the back. 

“You look radiant,” Dorian said, greeting her, picking her up, and spinning her in a circle. 

“Wow,” Bull exclaimed, seeing the decorations placed in lush asymmetrical bundles. “This is so beautiful.” 

  
Guests arrived soon afterward. Krem was the first, carrying a large box wrapped haphazardly in different sheets of wrapping paper. The rest of the Chargers followed, and Ellana was soon trapped in an awkward conversation with Grim, where he grunted in response to all of her small talk. Making an excuse to refill her glass, where she came across the player Dalish. 

“I’ve never seen another Dalish elf in Val Royeaux.” The elf announced, spotting Ellana’s  _ vallaslin _ . “What tribe are you from?” 

“Lavelllan. Near Kirkwall.” 

“I haven’t heard of them.” Dalish shrugged. “My clan dissolved shortly after I left for college. Drug smuggling. Broken up by Orlais.” 

“I’m sorry,” 

“That’s the way of things.” The broad rugby shrugged before abruptly turning to grab a onesie and sit next to Krem. 

After the gifts had been opened, Dorian raised his champagne glass in a toast. “Thank you all so much! Bull and I are such lucky bastards to have friends like you, who hopefully won’t have an equally ruinous effect on our children.” 

Ellana could hear Gaylen chortling next to her. 

“Thank you, Cassandra and Gaylen, for hosting this shindig, and thank you to Felix and Ellana for making all these artistic one-of-a-kind decorations that aren't repulsively gender normative.” 

“You bet,” Felix shouted back as Ellana blushed at everyone’s cheers, hiding a bit behind Felix’s strong shoulders with a friendly nod. 

“Now, forgive me for always making a dramatic scene at every party--.”

“Every  _ fucking  _ party!” Krem exclaimed as the rest of the Charges whopped.   
  
“We have a bit of a special announcement to make. All I ask is that you’re not angry with us when we say this...because we only found out this morning--.” 

“Oh no,” Ellana could hear Cassandra mutter next to her. 

“We are having twins!” Bull interrupted with a roar. 

Everyone in the room began to cheer simultaneously, surrounding the happy couple in a gigantic hug. 

\---

Bull found Ellana on the balcony after cleanup. She had been sitting watching colorful swaths of Orlasians meander down the old boulevards. When Bull slid open the glass door, Ellana was mesmerized watching a woman cajole a dalmatian puppy down the block. The animal was clumsy and exuberant as it tried to sniff every tree it passed by. 

“That party was beautiful. It meant a lot to Dorian, and to me,” He announced with his characteristic gentleness, sinking to sit beside her. 

“I’m so happy to hear your news. Twins, that’s so fantastic,” Ellana said, placing her hand on the qunari’s muscled arm. It was the best news she had heard in a long time. 

“Don’t know how we’re going to manage. Glad that Dorian has decided to work on his practice full time at home and be a stay-at-home dad. The university took a lot out of him.”

Ellana nodded, “I’m happy to babysit whenever I can--if I can, might be a better way to put it. I hope--” 

“I know how hard things are for you lately. You’ve been doing a good job, it might not feel like it, but this spy shit is really tough work. This time next year, we’ll be sitting together reminiscing about old missions and all that stuff.” 

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Dorian in what has been a saga.”   
  
“Well, I think we’ll be asking an awful lot of you in the upcoming months. So call it reciprocal. I know you can’t stand it when people try to take care of you.”

Ellana laughed a little sadly. For a moment, Solas’ face unexpectedly flashed before her eyes. 

“To the Dalish, twins are considered a blessing. An example of the universe being in perfect balance. Identical twins are holy for that reason, a flawless mirror image of each other.” 

“What about triplets?” Bull asked. 

“Lucky in a different way. Mostly because the Dalish are obsessed with fecundity, do the qunari have any customs around twins?” 

“You know, I haven’t thought of that. One is the light, and one is the shadow. One twin to challenge the other. A different kind of balance Under the Qun, there aren’t family units--although as you know, that’s changed over the last hundred years.” 

“It is interesting how something as simple as genetics is turned into myth,” Ellana breathed, taking a sip of the glass of water she had been holding. 

“I don’t know. I don’t really believe in the Qun, obviously.” Bull said, his eye patch tweaking a bit, “I won’t deny, however, that it doesn’t influence how I see the world. I like things to be orderly and think that everyone can contribute to a whole.” 

“Yet you married an artist who can’t put a single thing back where he found it,” Ellana teased. She had spent enough time at Bull and Dorian’s home to know that this was their single most point of contention. Dorian, when working, would take everything out and leave it out. It drove her nuts too. 

“See, you know what I’m talking about. The Dalish are a lot like the Qun, believing in sacred orders and whatnot. All those seven pillars and whatnot. The Qun believe that everyone is part of a single whole pushing back and forth on each other, leaving imprints like fingers in clay--”

“Creators!” Ellana exclaimed, standing up. “That’s it! Oh Bull, what I saw was an imprint. It wasn’t Solas, but a reflection of something that happened--or something that was about to happen.” 

“I’m not following,” the qunari said, clearly amused, his mouth quirking up at the sides. 

“Oh, you are wonderful, but I’m afraid I have to go.” 

“Spy shit?” Bull asked. 

Ellana nodded, sliding the glass door open. When she had said goodbye, her coat around her shoulders, she pulled out her phone in the lobby, dialing Dagna, bursting out before the dwarf could talk: “I think I figured it out.” 


	95. The One Where Oghren Shows Up Drink

**CHAPTER 95**

“It is like a watercolor painting,” Ellana explained to a rapt Dagna. The two women shared a plate of crackers and cheese as an improvised lunch at the center of the living room floor. Surrounding them in a semi-circle were piles of printouts and theoretical texts. Ellana had grouped them by subject that morning but found her attempt at organization to be strained at best. 

“So what exactly is this like a watercolor painting?” Dagna began, pulling out a map the same size as her, the document they considered the canonical map of Thedas with Sister Justine’s pilgrimage sites. Standing, Dagna laid it out on the dining room table. Ellana followed quickly behind. 

“We’ve been thinking about mapping out rifts like something fixed in a specific space and time. It’s just that the Fade isn't really a concrete place. It’s reactive to what happens here, which builds up as it absorbs our world…”

“Like paint strokes…” Dagna breathed. “I’m following, I think.” 

“And like watercolor, the first strokes show through to the later layers. Sometimes it bleeds through, like a lovely spot of reticulation, the occurrence isn’t confined to a single point.” 

“However, the underlayer always shows through…” Dagna mused, putting her fingers to the lips, changing the subject. “And some pigments stain more than others. I think I follow the metaphor.” 

“What makes it more complicated,” Ellana breathed. “The more I think about it is that I think reticulation can go two ways. For instance, I think Andruil and Solas are an imprint of the Fade leaking through. Almost like they are making a rift happen from the other side, because the Veil isn’t static either, it is stronger in certain places…” 

“It would have to be a cataclysmic force to make a rift.” Dagna puzzled. 

“The device Andruil had that night the pride demon caused a rift. If she used it from the other side, it might have that effect,” Ellana pointed out, before softening, “You are the engineer, however.” 

“Not so different than the sword attributed to Shartan.” Dagna pointed out. 

“Yes! Remember when you did that brain scan...and the foci was able to focus my brain to concentrate my magic? Maybe the sword enacts that?” 

“I’ve been reading about all those Elven rituals, and so many of them are about negotiating equilibrium. I’m more and more convinced that there isn’t really a center, which is why we can’t figure out why magic is decreasing.” 

Dagna paused again, looking up at Ellana with a startled look that made her stomach quiver. 

“Ellana.” 

“Hmm?”

“I think you might be the center.” 

“What?” Ellana gazed down at her hands. She could feel the power pumping through her like a circulatory system now. The mana clustering around her like a second skin. She still found it dumbfounding. 

“You know, a few mages have postulated about what it might be like to walk through the Fade physically. It isn’t good. Yet, you and Solas did without trouble. We thought, for instance, that the boy you helped was injured by the sphere you saw. His body was beginning to decay when he touched the Fade, which hastened the wounds. Bodies from this world, just aren’t equipped…” 

“Solas looked fine in that photograph...and Andruil,” Ellana pointed out. 

“Yes, but you and Professor S have an immunity of sorts. At least, that’s what I’m beginning to think. When you touch the artifacts, they work for you because you have the brain structure necessary to unlock them. That’s why the Evanurius wanted Professor S. He inoculated them against the effect so they can scour the Fade for the orb.” 

“I-I. That might be it, Dagna.” Ellana said reluctantly. She didn’t want to articulate her new fear out loud, that she was stronger than Solas, and if so, then it might be already too late to save him. 

“If Andruil wants to tear down the Veil, then maybe Solas gave us a warning shot to track him?” 

Ellana nodded. Part of her wanted to push back on the idea that Solas wasn’t complicit, but another part of her wanted to accept that he was doing his best to 

“Do you want to call the Nightingale, or should I?” Dagna asked. 

\---

“You’re really pretty, aren’t ya.” The moment Ellana met Oghren, the world’s most ostracized physicist, she did not like him. He had a red bushy beard that was matted in spots with food crumbs. That and when he entered the room, it began to smell like stale alcohol. 

Leliana had expedited their meeting with the physicist after Dagna called her, flying him on a private plane from an Antivan brothel. 

Still, listening to Oghren speak, Ellana had to admit his brilliance. He wandered in his comments, but every so often managed to spurt out a bit of information about how the cosmos operated that was cogent, if not beautiful. This was not one of those moments. 

“Excuse me?” Ellana exclaimed, shaking her head in resigned disdain. 

“Quit it, Og,” Leliana said from behind her tablet. Her face was placid, but her tone sharp. 

“I’m looking at this data,” The chastened dwarf began. Moments ago, Dagna had finished summarizing Ellana’s theory--if one could call it that--about how the Fade might be mapped. An expert on the Veil, seemingly shunned for all the wrong reasons, Oghren had quickly massaged their incoherent markers into a more concrete map. 

“So here’s the deal,” Oghren announced with a belch. “The Veil is spotty because it's artificial. However, I think we all agree that we want it to remain in place. Over the past few years, its essence has been thickening.” 

“Past few years?” Ellana interrupted. As far as she knew, magic had been decaying over lifetimes. 

“Well, centuries. Ever since it was put into place, given all this elf whatchamacallit, I think it's fair to say the ancient elves knew this and manufactured items that could cut through the Veil, releasing more magic.” 

“Right,” Briala said. “That Veil comes down, and it will be all bedlam with fucking spirits everywhere.” 

“If mages were so worried about the decline of magic, why did they not try to cut through the Veil?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Dagna chimed in. “It’s not about having access to the Veil, only, but being able to use magic...at all.” 

“The problem is that with the Veil separating the waking world and the Fade for…” Oghren belched. “Since whenever. The worlds themselves have changed. Coagulated in a way. Our world concrete, the Fade, whatever the Fade is.” 

“I see,” Ellana said, gazing to look at the Nightingale, who had an intense expression on her face. If an answer was to be found there, it was not easily forthcoming. 

“I’ve been looking at some of my own data. A few years back, I developed this method to track the Veil through lyrium vials, sort of like barometric pressure. Got them outfitted to a bunch of weather stations…” 

“So that's where your discretionary budget went.” Briala shook her head at a smug Leliana whose eyes flashed wickedly at the Chief of Staff. 

“So, we could have tracked the Veil...at any point?” 

“Well, no,” Oghren continued taking out his flask and taking a big swig. Ellana could make out some sweat on his brow as if all the questions exerted him. “The explosion was a sort of subatomic incident that buckled the Veil in a particular place.” 

For the first time, Oghren took out his phone from his breast pocket. Grabbing his briefcase, he pulled out a small plastic device and plugged it in. A few clicks later, and a projected map of Thedas appeared, large groups of color appearing in different clusters ranging from soft yellow to a bright cruel red. 

“So, as far as we know, the laws of physics don’t work in the Fade,” Oghren explained. “This applies to all the things that define our existence like light and gravity. This also means time.” 

“Time?” Dagna squealed. “Oh, that makes sense, because…”

“It was like Solas, and I had only been gone for seconds when we came back over from Var Bellanaris but had spent a few hours in the Fade.” 

“So what you are looking at is a before image of what the Veil’s strength was before the subatomic incident.” 

  
Ellana skimmed the map, noting that one of the densely red areas was around Kirkwall. Other clusters were around a few of the other reservations she was aware of, such as Clan Hawen. Skimming the surface for her own, she saw one large red speck. 

“So, here’s an interesting thing,” Oghren said. “A thin Veil has another effect on the waking world. Your magic might be stronger, but things like crops don’t grow as well. A lot of elvhen ruins are clustered in those zones, but…”

“Are mostly temples or other sites that wouldn’t rely on farming or other industry,” Ellana said, realizing for the first time what had prompted some of the holiest places to be built was about access to the Fade. 

“So what, humans gave elves those lands because they were shitty?’ Briala continued, throwing her hands up. ‘Typical.” 

“Also, Kirkwall,” Dagna joked. “Don’t forget... _ Kirkwall.”  _

“So, using your watercolor analogy,” Oghren shrugged, clicking his phone again. “Caused the Veil which moves sort of like tectonic plates to redistribute itself to compensate.” 

“Don’t tell me, the next rupture is going to occur…” Ellana didn’t have to finish her sentence. After the last year, she had learned to expect the worst. 

“The reservation of Clan Lavellan,” Leliana confirmed, giving Ellana a searching look. 

“It might explain why your brain has the genetic quirk that allows you to navigate the Fade if your family is from that area..” Dagna breathed. “Your parents?” 

Ellana shook her head, resigned. “Not that I know of. Neither were a mage.” 

“Should last for the next week.” Oghren nodded. “After that, we’d need to take another reading.” 

“I think if I am close enough to where the next rupture might happen, I could reach Solas in a dream,” Ellana said. “I might be able to change his heart.” 

Leliana nodded. “Or at the very least, figure out what they are doing and why they are doing it.” 

Briala shrugged, staring up to the ceiling for a moment as she fiddled with her cartoonish red locks. “Ok. We don’t really have anything else. Let’s get it going.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my understanding of physics comes from Star Trek so don't' @ me. ;)


	96. The One Where Ellana Reunites With Her Clan

**CHAPTER 96**

“When was the last time you went home?” Dorian asked Ellana at a gas station along a desolate stretch of highway. It was one of those empty corridors of land mostly used for moving supplies, and Ellana had been watching trucks rush by in the sweltering mid-afternoon heat. 

  
“I was in my second year of my PhD. I had to go back and officially resign as First. Fenris went with me, and that proved _controversial.”_

Dorian laughed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t imagine why.” 

“And to think you’ve met the subdued Fenris,” Ellana replied, a smile coming to her lips as she remembered the dismal visit they had taken in their first year of courtship. It had started with Deshannah lamenting how her First had cut her braids and ended with her throwing a fit when the Keeper would not accept her decision to resign and pursue her Ph.D. Fenris had dragged her shouting from the kitchen table, out into the cold night. The rest of the trip was near silent except for Deshannah making passive-aggressive jibes. 

Deep in thought, Ellana chugged water from the bottle she had purchased at the rest stop. 

“Sometimes reconciliation is possible,” Dorian shrugged, with a soft nod towards Bull refilling their car with gas. “It took my parents time to adjust to my life choices.” 

Ellana recalled the stories Dorian and Bull had shared with her about their initial courtship. Dorian’s parents had been blindsided by his preference for men and his love affair with a qunari. It had led to a few years of estrangement, but now the couple was close with his parents, video chatting regularly on the phone. Mostly now, about their soon-to-be grandchildren. 

“You’re right,” Ellana said. “We talk on the phone a few times a year. She was not pleased, however, when I asked her about this all.” 

“It’s a lot to process. I’m not sure I understand the whole story.” Dorian continued supportively, opening the car door and sliding into the back seat next to Ellana. The friends watched as Bull went into the main store to pay, coming back out with a giant bag of chips. 

Initially, Ellana had insisted on going alone. Now, however, she was being escorted to the reservation by a small caravan. Dorian and Bull had insisted on driving her. Blackwall had come along for security, accompanied by a loquacious Josephine. Cullen had been summoned and was sulking in the back seat of Blackwall’s sedan. To oversee the important mission, Leliana traveled by airplane overhead with elite agents and Dagna, who insisted on bringing packing crates full of scientific instruments.

Cassandra had wanted to come, as well as Gaylen, but had been persuaded to stay home by a weary Nightingale who pointed out that someone needed to be “in charge of headquarters.” Ellana received a text message from the prosecutor every hour. 

However, the most surprising companion on the voyage was Varric. The dwarf had mysteriously heard about the whole incident and was setting-up the campsite where they would attempt to make contact with Solas. He had promised good food, wine, and conversation, so Leliana had acquiesced without protest. 

“How are you feeling?” Bull asked Ellana when he had come back to the car, putting on his sunglasses again and setting the car in gear while occasionally stuffing a handful of barbeque potato chips into his mouth. 

Ellana looked out the window. The landscape was growing increasingly muddy as they drew closer to their destination. Soon, they’d be driving over the bridge connecting the Fereldan and the Free Marshes. She picked up her sewing project, more hats and booties for Dorian and Bull's babies arriving in early Fall. 

“I was fine this morning, but I feel a little nervous.” She admitted. “I hope we can find Solas, but what then, you know?” 

Dorian and Bull encouraged her to continue by softly humming in unison. 

Ellana clicked her needles together and made a few stitches before continuing. “My Keeper says that it is the Way’s doing that I end up having to save my disreputable boyfriend at a place I’ve been avoiding for years. She says that if we had gotten married, like a good Dalish couple, we would, we’d not be in this predicament.” 

Dorian laughed a bit. Repressing the sound when his husband glared at him. “I guess guilting your offspring--adopted or otherwise--is a universal quality shared across the continent.” 

“If this is the cosmos punishing you, I don’t want to know what’s on its agenda for me.” Bull joked. 

“Your Keeper sounds intense,” Dorian said, placing a hand on her arm again. 

Ellana nodded in response, losing herself to her thoughts. For a while, only the clacking of her knitting could be heard until Dorian passed out and started snoring. Shortly thereafter, she closed her eyes. 

\---

“Clever girl, I knew you’d figure it out.” The spirit announced. Ellana was once again in the kitchen. There was a large bowl in front of her made out of quartz, inscribed with ancient sigils that she couldn’t make out. 

Solas had told her once that your brain couldn’t read while it was asleep, which was an excellent litmus test for if you were in the Fade or not. Looking down, Ellana stared at the glyphs making out the signs for hawk, halla, dragon, and hare. 

“Drink,” the spirit commanded. 

Ellana did, regretting it as soon as she put the bowl to her lips, as staring up at the bottom of the glass was a wolf, glaring back up at her with not two but seven eyes. Her body started shaking violently. 

\---

“Sorry to wake you, but we’ve arrived,” Dorian said as the car weaved through the main stretch of the reservation. It had not changed since Ellana had last visited, only the landscape seemed smaller, less intimidating. Her reservation was so different from the Hawen compound she and Solas had traveled to at the start of the new year. Aravels, worn but cared for, dotted a sandy landscape. Pens of halla and other livestock creatures stretching over most of the land. 

At the center was a utilitarian building, made out of brick, surrounded by eroded statues of wildlife that had been old by the time her grandparents’ grandparents had lived there. 

“So this is where you grew up?” Bull asked. 

"Lonely," Dorian said. "So quiet it hurts." 

“Yes,” Ellana agreed, aware of Dorian looking out of the car window and glancing back at her as if to try and place her in this new context. One she had always failed to belong to A few clusters of Dalish farmers were milling about along the main road, some drinking bottles of homebrew beer, pausing mid drink to stare at the purple sedan. 

She felt fortunate for the tinted windows as she tried to spot any familiar faces; only the car was passing by too quickly. The car passed by a small two-room building, where she had lived with her parents. It was smaller than she remembered and painted a moss green rather than blue. Or maybe she didn't remember it correctly?

"That's where I was born," she pointed without any ceremony. "Another family lives there now." 

\---

Ellana had contacted Deshannah at the prompting of the Nightingale. Talking with her would allow them to ask questions about her parents and maybe begin to trace out if any of her relatives had similar magical capabilities. Besides, even if Leliana were determined to carry out their mission without permission, Ellana would make the formal request to use the reservation’s grounds for their mission. 

When she called, Deshannah had surprised Ellana with a polite invitation to dinner. Her usual sharpness subdued on the phone, “It would be good to see you.” 

The Keeper’s intensity was in full force when Ellana arrived carrying a bouquet to give to her. Dorian had accompanied her for moral support, a fact Deshannah curtly noted in Elvhen. “You are dating a Tevinter magister now? I thought the doctor was an elf.” 

Ellana flinched at her Keeper’s greeting. She found the old woman sitting on the front porch, covered in a woven emerald and brown blanket, her feet resting on porch slats. An oxygen tube winding along the circumference of her face surprised her. 

“Dorian is a friend,” Ellana replied in common. “He and his husband drove me here.” 

“I see _da’len._ Welcome friend of Ellana to Clan Lavellan.” For a moment, Deshannah puffed up with the full range of her usual commanding strength. The pain lines in her face dissolving. 

Dorian waved, his eyes skimming the field of dark grasses surrounding the cottages as if gaining a whole picture of the adjacent landscape might offer him some additional subtext to the strange exchange.

Catching a whiff of burning elfroot in the air, Ellana realized that her Keeper was smoking a blunt. Something she had spent a considerable amount of time warning Ellana against in her childhood. _“Only for intense pain,”_ Deshannah had instructed her as she forced the young scholar to memorize alchemical combinations. _“Or terminal patients.”_

Before Ellana could ask Deshannah what was wrong, a woman around her age popped out the front door with a short pixie hair cut. “Hi,” she said casually, setting down a tray of lemonade. “My name is Mihris! It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Same,” Ellana muttered, her hands on her hips. She was wearing a short black romper and gold clogs, trying to ignore the sensation of flies biting her exposed skin and the dirt collected between her toes. 

“Our First.” Deshannah explained without the expected malice, gesturing to two plastic chairs next to her, “Come sit with me.” 

Dorian and Ellana climbed the stairs obediently. For a time, the unusual party made muted small talk. “Did that silver-haired fool introduce you two?” Deshannah barked. 

“No,” Dorian chuckled. “We taught at the university together.” 

“You’re no longer teaching at the university?” Deshannah accused Ellana. 

“I’m on a bit of an unexpected sabbatical,” Ellana offered. It wasn’t quite a lie, as once her current ordeal was over, she fully planned on working again. Dorian muttered he was sorry in Tevene, trying to cover up the words as if coughing. 

“Well, at least you’re not married to that imbecile, Fenwrist.” Deshannah commanded. “Always snuffed out your light.” 

Ellana didn’t have to reply because the woman by the name of Mihris skipped out again, the sound of the screen door clattering against the house's bricks. The gesture had an immediate quality, as if the Elven woman was purposefully intervening. “I’m almost done with dinner.” 

“So would be obvious.” Deshannah violently shook her head as if gravely insulted. 

“Do you need any assistance?” Dorian offered with a plaintive glance. 

“Oh, that would be nice,” Mihris replied. 

Ellana watched, a bit helplessly, as Dorian disappeared into the warm fluorescent lights, the sound of clattering in the kitchen obstructing the background hum of crickets in the night air. 

“How long?” She asked Deshannah, switching back to Elvhen, pointing to the oxygen tank when the Keeper looked away from her, up towards the moon. 

“Six months,” She shrugged with her usual brevity. “Bone cancer. It was a good life.”

Ellana placed a hand on her mentor’s hand, trying to remember all the happy memories they had shared in her childhood before she had grown wily and disobedient. 

“I’m sorry,” Deshannah unexpectedly. “For kicking you out of the tribe and for not understanding. I like to think I do now even if it is a little too late.” 

Ellana gazed back at her Keeper. She felt startled in a way that eclipsed any sense of dread she had been carrying about the meeting. She had been waiting to hear those words for a long time, and parts of her that had long been inflamed were instantly soothed. 

“You don’t have--”

“No,” Deshannah raised her hands in a defensive stance. “The way is offering us a chance to reconcile, and selfishly I’m dying. I thought, when you were a child, my job was to hold onto your brilliance and keep it for the tribe. I forgot about the world.” 

“It’s an old wound,” Ellana assured her. “Long healed over.” 

“Speaking of healing,” Deshannah continued unphased. “I got a call from this Keeper in Orlais, Hawen? I think his name was. He told me what you and that boyfriend of yours did for the boy. Seems like maybe the way has uncovered a path for you to help the People after all.” 

“It was,” Ellana was taken aback, “anyone would have done the same.”

“Yet you did it without asking for any tribute. A Dalish thing to do.” 

Ellana nodded, unsure of what to say. She had not considered herself acting out of any whim of the "way" for almost a decade now. 

“In any event,” Deshannah persisted. “I’ve been putting my affairs in order and cleaning out storage, and I found this knife of your Da’s. Thought you should have it.” 

Gesturing to the table, Ellana saw a gold blade and recognized the hunter’s knife that her father often had tied to his jeans as he worked their herd of halla. It was Dalish in style, slightly curved with a dark crystal embedded at the top. Picking it up, Ellana found it hummed slightly in her hand and was lighter than she expected it to be. 

“Do you know if my parents had magic like I do?” She asked abruptly. “Could they read dreams?” 

Deshannah shook her head. “Nope, you came out of nowhere. No mages in your lineage that we know of.” 

“How odd.” Ellana breathed, flipping the blade in her hand back and forth. 

“Some things should remain mysteries,” Deshannah advised. “If you fly too close to one, it might burn you up. Although I don’t think that’s your lot in life.” 

“I’m glad we could see each other,” Ellana admitted realizing how true the words were. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Deshannah softened, reaching over and brushing a few strands out of Ellana’s face like she had when she was a child. “You are of my heart, and I am so proud of you.” 


	97. The One Where Our Fearless Companions Gather

**CHAPTER 97**

The dinner hadn’t lasted long. At the end of the meal, Deshannah and Ellana had made excuses to see each other again in a polite refusal of the inevitable. Bidding Dorian and Ellana a good evening, Mihris outstretched a hand to her predecessor, telling Ellana she was always welcome, ending with the unfinished sentence of “...even if.” 

“So that’s where you get it from.” Dorian pronounced as soon as Ellana put the borrowed car into gear, navigating it down a dark road, the headlights mirroring the moons above. 

“Where I get what from?” Ellana was exhausted at Deshannah’s constant need to be in control, the lapse in her fierce questioning only making the later conversation more sharp and excruciating to endure. Still, her brief expression of love buoyed her forward to the next part of her evening. 

“Your specific sort of intensity about everything.” The mage hummed, his neon pink sweatshirt covered in moving shadows. “Although you’re a little more discerning about where you apply it to.” 

“I never thought of it that way, but I think you’re right. My parents were soft-spoken and humble. Deshannah is…”

“A firebrand, like you secretly are,” Dorian said, twisting his mustache. “Thanks for letting me come along.” 

“No, thank you for coming along,” Ellana protested, thinking about Deshannah’s intense questioning of Tevinter morals given all they had done to oppress the People. “When this is all over--”

“Oh, you’re going to have a costly night at the Kirkwall on your tab.” 

It took a little over an hour to reach the campsite's boundaries—the soft glow of a bonfire greeting the friends on arrival. Large red tents were set-up in a semi-circle, folding tables covered in metal boxes and papers littering the campsite. Parking the car in an empty field next to the other vehicles, Dorian and Ellana found their companions roasting marshmallows from camping chairs substantial enough to hold Bull comfortably. 

“How was it?” Bull roared over the silent field. Standing as his husband wrapped his arms around his muscled torso. 

“Up-and-down,” Ellana responded, still processing the conversation, trying to place Deshannah’s words into tightly bound bundles. Her hand warm around her father’s blade. 

“A moment of your time?” Leliana said, emerging from the shadows in a way Ellana found fitting for her moniker. 

Ellana followed the spymistress into one of the largest tents. Dagna was waiting inside, holding the sphere from their earlier experiments. An open case on the table revealed the so-called sword of Shartan. 

“Can we review the mission at hand?” Leliana began nervously, kneeling on the bare ground in front of the blade as if to pray. 

“I’m to attempt to make contact with Solas this evening as I sleep.” Ellana chanted, “Dagna will be watching, tracking my sleep cycles to ensure that I enter the Fade. We’ll decide the next steps based on the intelligence I gather. If I don’t gather intelligence, we’ll begin to think about opening the Fade and locating the orb regardless of Solas.” 

“I should warn you, Ellana, I am not optimistic,” Leiliana admitted to Ellana sometime later when Dagna had departed to check on a few other machines. “Particularly of Solas’ innocence.” 

\---

When the moon was at its highest, an owl hooting nearby, Varric found Ellana sitting alone by the fire. She had changed into a pair of leggings and a black sweatshirt, laying up looking at the sky while the rest of the companions were drinking beer and throwing rocks in a dark field, trying to discern whose throw went the farthest. 

“Nervous?” The thoughtful Dwarf asked. 

“Mostly hopeful,” Ellana said, sitting up, watching as Varric settled down across from her. She had been mulling over Leliana’s assessment, figuring out how she felt about the situation yet again. 

“I have faith in Chuckles. Although, Leliana might say I always think the best of others to my determinant.” 

“I didn’t realize you were so close to Solas,” Ellana mused, staring off into the fire. “Or were involved with the Inquisition.” 

“Well, I’m not an agent, no. However, my on and off again involvement is the doing of our dear departed Chuckles." 

“Oh, really?” Ellana leaned back, hoping for a story to distract her. It was one of Varric’s great talents to know when someone needed a diversion. A quality she was envious of. 

“About eight years ago. He still had hair then, a ponytail of luscious black hair. Vain little peacock." 

“What!” Ellana hissed. “That is hard to picture.” 

“Shaved sides, though. I have photos I will show you when we are back in Val Royeaux.” 

“Creators.” Ellana found the visualization impossible to realize in her head. Solas had always been decisively bald to her. Even as a child. 

“Anyway, I was working as an independent entrepreneur at the time, and there was this bad trade deal going through red lyruim, nasty stuff. Several Carta members, including my brother, didn’t know what they were dealing with and got sick. So, I thought I’d put a stop to it. Drove all the way to the Exalted Plains, and found this group of smugglers hiding in these caves.” 

Ellana had never been to the Exalted Plains. It was a dry, remote place full of lizards and crispy plants with outlandish names that had no value to her except as trivia. 

“Shitty place. Makes Kirkwall look like a place befitting a summer holiday.” Varric continued, taking a swig out of a hidden flask. “Anyway, I got into a bit of trouble. I went by myself, was out of ammo, and this elf appears out of nowhere in this _fucking_ expensive suit, when I got lost in this neverending _fucking_ cave. Thought I was one of the smugglers.” 

Ellana could feel her mouth quirk up. Both at the image of Solas wearing a suit in the middle of the desert and Varric’s implicit insistence that anyone might confuse him for a smuggler. 

“Sometimes, he’s not the most perceptive. Despite his formidable intelligence.” Ellana admitted instead. 

“You got that right. Anyway, the elf ties me up with magical chains, and then Fade steps me out to his campsite. This was fortunate, as if he hadn’t, the smugglers would have found and shot me on sight. Some friendly conversation, a little bribery of my rarest wine holdings, and we realized that we were on the same side as Nightingale over there had sent him to investigate.” 

“What happened in the end?” Ellana asked. 

“A lot of weird shit.” Varric shivered. “We destroyed the red lyrium strains, rounded up some of the worst offenders, and then drove back to Val Rouyeux because the car I had brought with me exploded. All of this is to say. I think whatever drove Chuckles to leave had to be worthy.” 

“Thanks Varric.” 

“That being said, I’ve written enough books to know that this type of story doesn’t often have a happy ending.” 

\---

“I want to show you something,” the spirit said to Ellana, taking her by the hand and guiding her out of the kitchen, through what looked like a palatial country home. Occasionally, Ellana tried to steal a glance through one of the floor to ceiling windows, but all she saw was a superficial cloud of white that resembled bouncing particles of chalk. 

Everything about the space was white. A true absence of color that was too intense to look directly at. Bright and unrelenting like the surface of a sun. Ellana tried to cover her eyes as she turned each hallway until the spirit brought her to a non-descript living room filled with modern furniture, a long leather sofa made out of stretched beige leather and covered with embroidered throw pillows. Elven relics littered the corners, old gold urns and amulets hung on the wall in orderly displays. 

Letting go of Ellana, the spirit drifted to the center of the room and slid open a coffee table drawer, taking out a long stem candle and lighting it with a flick of its fingers. Placing it at the center, the spirit cocked its head in Ellana’s direction.   
“Look for this flame _da’len._ It will guide you on this journey."

“What do you mean?”   


\---

Ellana woke bellowing. Her whole body was on fire, almost as if the particles were being torn apart molecule by molecule. She didn’t rise so much as jerk to her feet. Her limbs bent in directions that stretched her bones to almost break and shatter. 

Dagna was trying to reason with her, soothe her back down, only Ellana couldn’t hear the words, the song that she had heard on-and-off-again played in loud rotation in her mind, overpowering everything else. 

Walking out into the cold night, a red-faced Cullen attempted to chase her, but Ellana was too fast, her bare feet were being torn open on the rough ground, but she kept running. A brush of his hand grabbing her thigh, and she could feel the lyrium circulating his system, manifesting into a void that he was trying to impress upon her. 

Ellana hadn’t planned on making her way to Leliana’s tent, only the automated force that kept driving her motions brought her there. 

Leliana pointed a gun at her. She was yelling, but Ellana snapped her fingers, opening the boxes of the ancient elven relics. A moment's hesitation on the spymistresses' part allowed Ellana to grip the edge of the blade and slash the fabric around her until she was exposed entirely to moonlight. 

A green rift erupted in front of her. 

A quick jump, and Ellana passed through to the other world as easily as butter melting on a frying pan. 


	98. The One Where Ellana Lavellan To The Dark Tower Came

**CHAPTER 98**

The car swerved on the slippery highway. Ellana covered her face with her hands, bracing for impact only for the whole scene to simultaneously evaporate around her when two sets of headlights collided on an empty road, the light scattering like fireflies in a dusky expanse. 

Suddenly, Ellana found herself standing barefoot on cold asphalt covered in broken glass. The landscape of dense trees surrounding her didn’t so much as provide a canopy but float in askew clusters. It was night, but only because there was a sense of it. A darkness that lingered and tickled the senses rather than a tangible quality that could be easily observed. 

In front of her, ghostly outlines of a car crash played on repeat. It took Ellana a few rotations to realize it was a scene out of her own memory. A white truck colliding against her parents’ car. At first, Ellana thought she might see her mother and father’s bodies amidst the wreckage, only to see wisps in the place of any recognizable person from her history. 

There was nothing for Ellana there. Neither understanding or closure. 

Turning her back on the nightmare, she saw a star in the sky above a dark tower. The illumination bouncing of the ebony walls reminded her of the candle the spirit had lit. Swinging the sword of Shartan over her shoulder and clutching the crystal sphere to her chest, she began a slow walk, unsure of where to go except onwards. 

\---

The darkness became more featureless. Ellana wasn’t sure what powered her through, thinking at first it might be love and then grimly realizing it was duty. An obligation for her to solve the mystery at hand. If she failed, then the world would fall quickly. 

The thought of her friend’s suffering made tears begin to stream down her cheeks. She pictured her friends in Val Royeaux, sitting around a warm fire, and a spark appeared that grew in front of her, expanding with unexplained fervor. 

A single drop split into two, then four, then eight, and so forth until Ellana found herself ensconced in Haven again. Or what the movie set had portrayed as the holy site. Paintings hung in the air, morphing and changing in front of her. Sometimes a cogent shape formed in the outline of halla or wyvern, only to melt away again. Smooth pebbles under her feet were cool and pleasant. 

Ellana wished Solas was there. She wanted so very much to see him again. 

The thought stirred a few spirits to materialize. Two cruelly reenacted the kiss she and her lover had shared that night they had first dreamed together. She was struck by the desperation of how they clutched one another, the fervor of their kissing so hungry. 

Touching her lips, she thought it almost impossible she had experienced such an act of love. 

_“Ar Lath Ma Vhenan,”_ a red spirit sang out in a cruel whisper seizing Ellana’s arm. The moment they touched, it shapeshifted into Solas. If she hadn’t have watched its transformation, Ellana would have thought the figure in front of her to to be him. A perfect, angular face, with a sad smile beckoning to her. 

“Stay here with me, _vhenan.”_ A baritone voice beckoned her. 

Ellana paused, thinking that she might like to stay in the stretch of land. There would be no heartbreak here, something told her in the back of her mind. No heartbreak and no hurt. 

From the corner of her eyes again, she saw a flash of light—the star in the sky, this time larger and brilliant. 

“No,” Ellana refused. The sphere flashed in her hand, causing the spirit to drift away, shattering in her hand, the small pieces tearing at the surfaces of her palms, the slivers pricking her still solid flesh. 

\---

Ellana ran out of the boundaries of Haven, through another forest, and then a mountain range. 

By the time she stilled, she was panting, obstructed from moving forward by a river not of water, but blood. Below the immediate surface, Ellana spotted the decaying faces of those who had passed before her, each more spectacularly gruesome than the next with empty eye sockets filled with maggots. Rotten skin stretched over a skeleton armature.   
  
Clenching her eyes shut, she could hear them calling to her, each whispering their brutal story, whispers simultaneously passing over another in an unbearable crescendo. Images of an ancient battle played before her eyes. Elves in scale armor enacted brutal warfare, splitting open skulls and slitting throats. A morning star was about to strike Ellana when she opened her eyes with a gasp. 

She was alone with the river. Rising, Ellana paced over to the edges, placing a tentative foot into the coagulating liquid. A single hand roughly pulled her under the surface so she might see the fallen victims of the ancient war. Another took hold of her throat, strangling her until she was choking down the vile fluid. 

About to admit defeat and sleep on the bottoms, Ellana swung the hilt of the sword up towards where the sky should be. The star, now discernible as a flame, was above her. Ellana pushed herself up over the corpses with one swift kick and emerged on the other side dry when she should be drenched. Clean of gore and ichor.

With some relief, she drifted off into a restful sleep—a shattered blade resting on her chest. 

\---

Ellana had arrived. She wasn't sure how she had come to that conclusion, but the nightmare she had journeyed through had passed. Sitting up, she found herself in familiar settings, the vineyard that she and Solas had come to on occasion in dreams. Unlike the grisly landscapes she had passed through, the air was balmy and thick with bird song. 

A modern house, parts of it built into a hill overlooking the fields, stood a short walk away. It was all clean tight edges, made out of sheets of metal and glass. 

Wasting no time, Ellana strode towards the building knocking on a large door. 

A spirit opened it. It's green body bobbing in the wind. 

“You’re Mythal,” Ellana announced with sudden awareness, the words coming to her. 

“I’ve been waiting for you _da’len._ For eons, it seems.” An aged face that Ellana recognized from Solas’ portrait in his kitchen formed where there had only been an amorphous cloud moments prior. Almond-shaped yellow eyes gazed back at her with piercing certainty. 

“Come in. We have much to talk about.” 


	99. The One Where We Find Out What Happened to Solas

**CHAPTER 99**

Andruil had abandoned Solas in a bleak stretch of nothingness. 

Time did not pass in the Fade the same way it did in the waking world, and so his dark journey had extended the way years might until Solas was certain all he had ever known in life was the single occupation of ending Andruil’s quest before she could do any real damage. 

He had tried to kill her once shortly before leaving Arlathan. She had taken to sleeping next to him at night, prompted to do so, not by devotion or desire, but of the same drive a lion might have while watching its prey fatten. He had waited until she had fallen asleep, summoning an ancient spell that should have turned her body to stone. The end effect had left him dazed and regularly at the mercy of Andruil playing with the jawbone artifact he had so carelessly designed in youth. 

They had not lingered long in the waking world, entering the Fade soon after arrival with a flick of Andruil's wrist on a beautiful summer morning. 

Solas found himself confused by Andruil’s ability to navigate the seemingly indistinguishable trenches of land. For a time, their journey was simply a long walk with no end. Solas not daring to speak if it might rile his captor, who pulled him forward by a chain bound around his neck like a dog. 

“Oh my Dread Wolf,” she cooed at him occasionally, stroking his head like one might a pet.   
  
“I am not yours,” he grunted, and the chain broke, flying back into her face, causing welts that took months to heal. 

“A truce,” she had screamed, realizing that he had learned how to use his willpower in the Fade to overcome her. 

“Fine.” Solas agreed only because it was mutually beneficial and because she had begged on her knees, A stance he found befitting to her. 

And so the long walk continued. Unbroken and constant. The only difference distinguishing passage from place-to-place the way the air hung in a moonless sky. 

It changed when Andruil came close to the Orb. A humming had gripped both of their minds, buzzing madly like a jarful of bees. He couldn’t articulate what pulled them towards the source, but it was there, and it was strong. 

Andruil had taken her staff, using the metal point at the end to draw a glyph in the sand below their feet, and tapped down. A crack appeared before them, and Solas recognized the feelings of concreteness he had lacked since the start of their travels. 

Out of instinct, Solas had summoned dispell. His magic laying dormant for days--if not years--it was strong enough to decimate the area around them until the ether around them had blackened. His relief at foiling Andruil short-lived when he felt the area around his heart grow solid, as if crystals were sprouting inside of him. 

“You’ve blighted yourself,” Andruil said. “You can’t do magic here, my pet. I would have warned you, but it slipped my mind.” 

Solas didn’t have long to decipher her meaning or ask why she might be able to cast magic herself. 

Andruil reached out a palm in front of her, and a ghostly chain appeared out of nothingness. Fashioning it to his leg, Solas was tied to an anchor of material, so dense and immense, that none might move it without a miracle. 

“I thought you needed me,” Solas groaned. The words as broken as he felt. 

“Not here, in the Fade,” Andruil said. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for you.” 

“What--” His demand was cut short.

“I don’t need you in the Fade.” Andruil clarified, rising to continue her walk, “I need you to get back out." 


	100. The One Where Ellana Finds Mythal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wish is a dream your heart makes?

**CHAPTER 100**

“You’re Mythal,” Ellana repeated; the door closed behind her, and she was securely inside. The entryway was covered in a gold mosaic that bore great resemblance to the ones she had seen at the warehouse with Solas. Tiny pieces of metal laid out in an undulating pattern. 

“That name knows me--among others,” The woman cryptically answered, gliding down a long hallway and waving towards Ellana. “Come sit with me for a while, child.” 

Ellana nodded, realizing that the entire time they had spoken, Mythal’s mouth had not moved. It was as if all of her messages were being transmitted through the air. A feature that did little to assuage her anxiety. How did she know that her current circumstances were not yet another trick of the Fade? The woman appeared normal enough, dressed in a chic white suit, fitted perfectly over her wiry frame. 

“You don’t need to be frightened, my child. I’ve been waiting for you.” The woman continued as if reading Ellana’s mind. “This is a chat between old friends.” 

"This meeting was no accident, was it?" Ellana asked the moment she sank onto the leather couch in Mythal’s sitting room. For once in her career as an art historian, the Elvhen artifacts cluttering each available surface. Now in the Fade, the view out of the windows was available to her. High up, almost touching the sky, Ellana had a never-ending view of imaginary worlds that inexplicably bled into one another. It was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen before. 

“Clever girl,” Mythal said, sitting next to Eliana, patting her affectionately on the arm. "I did summon you here."

"You are a spirit?" Ellana accused drawing back. 

"No, my dear. I am myself. Although magic does cross both worlds, even if the practice is no longer known to many." 

"How--" Ellana began to ask when Mythal raised a hand to interrupt her. 

“I believe you were searching for this?” The old woman groaned, pulling out a dense black ball from the floor next to her feet with strength that no elf might have. 

“Yes,” Ellana said, taking the orb in her hands. It took both of them to hold onto the device securely as it was purring like an animal, vibrating in a way that shouldn’t be possible from something that was, at first glance, inanimate. It was warm and familiar to her, her mana circulating in concentrated patterns rather than bouncing aimlessly about as it usually did. An ineffable awareness started percolating in her system, offering her an awareness she had never had before. 

“How?” Ellana couldn’t believe that the Orb of Destruction would be handed to her. 

“That explanation takes time that we do not have. Solas is in danger, and I must selfishly ask as a mother for you to do what I cannot and save him.” 

"I-I need to understand." 

"Don't fret. I can assure you we will see each other again. Soon, even." 

Ellana was about to protest again when Mythal cupped her face, looking her directly in the eyes, "Besides, truth is not an end, but a beginning. Before we open another door, let us close this one." 

“What do I do?” Ellana acquiesced, her fingers pulsing around the mythical device. For the first time in months, her head was quiet, her thoughts crystalline. 

“The Orb was made to channel willpower. It’s as simple as wishing, my dear.” 

  
  



	101. The One Where The Lovers Are Reunited

**CHAPTER 101**

“It can’t be you,” Solas moaned as a face that haunted his restless dreams looked down upon him with an undeserving warmth. Two hazel eyes shined down on him, a delicate tan hand tracing the wounds tenderly examining his bruised flesh around his eyes from where Andruil would return to abuse him on a whim, whopping him with her staff until blood gushed out of his mouth.   
  
A couple of times, he thought he might drift off, but no such relief came. Andruil was an expert on inflicting pain just enough so he might cling to life. Never coming close to striking him too hard or anywhere vital. 

Ellana had appeared to Solas before in the Fade. A desire demon had attempted to seduce him, but this was different. In those fantasies, she had appeared too perfect dressed in any number of immaculate gowns. Now, she appeared to him, in thin leggings and a men’s sweatshirt. His sweatshirt. Her blonde hair was slicked back, not with any tie, but from perspiration. 

“Oh, Solas,” She cried almost inaudibly. The _vallaslin_ etched into cheeks twisting along with her worried expression. “You’re dying.” 

Before he could stop her, a layer of magic coasted over his skin. He shook with worry, thinking perhaps Ellana would find herself blighted as well, only to find her unharmed after the mana stopped. Struggling to rise, he saw it then in her hands: The Orb of Destruction. 

“I can’t heal you. Something prevents me, although I should be able to.” She held up a large ball made out of a solid material that appeared as if it were covered in an oily liquid that flickered between jet black and violet. 

“It is the Orb. “Where did you find it?” He marveled out loud, reaching out to touch the device, only for Ellana to snatch it out of reach. 

Ellana flinched at the question. Her eyes flashing mistrust as she studied his face. Her teeth chewed her lip as she clutched the dark material to her chest. Her whole body stiffened with fear. 

“Andruil offered me a choice,” Solas explained, realizing for the first time the extent of the consequences of his betrayal. “Either you or me. I-I wanted to save you. She’s come close a few times to finding the Orb, and I stopped her.”   
  
“Foolish elf,” Ellana chastised him. A smile flickering to her lips before she leaned down and kissed him, one hand coming to cup his chin as her caress intensified. 

“I’m sorry, and now that you know the truth--” 

“ _Ar Lath Ma Vhenan.”_ She whispered to him, repeating the promise, much to his disbelief. _“Ar Lath Ma Vhenan._ I’m only sorry I didn’t say that to you sooner.” 

Another kiss, and he found the chain clasped around his legs vanish. 

“How?” 

“Let us leave this place,” Ellana said, helping him up with a free hand, “I think I can--”

Whatever Ellana’s plan was, her words were cut short by Andruil cackling in the background. A blast of silver magic crashing down to strike them, prevented only by Ellana’s quick movement, her palm extending forward, catching the beam of light in her hand, and then crumpling it like a piece of paper.


	102. The One Where Ellana Exacts Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grammarly tells me this section sounds anxious and I agree!

**CHAPTER 102**

“Ellana Lavellan,” Andruil called out to Ellana from the edge of the blackened ground. “Even with the Orb, you are nothing.”

Ellana didn’t respond to Andruil’s challenge. Any words she came up with were beneath her as she stalked forward. A dangerous energy pulsated in the air as the waring women pulled their barriers tightly around their skin like a magical cocoon. 

Andruil shot a few projectiles in Ellana’s direction. Annoying, more than threatening. The shots of magic instantaneously rebounded as soon as each hit the shield Ellana had carefully crafted around her and Solas. Each small barrage kept Ellana from gathering her thoughts. She wasn’t sure how she powered the Orb but knew that without a pause, she’d be unable to unlock its secrets. 

“I can’t help you cast magic. It will kill me,” Solas said, coming to stand next to Ellana. His body leaning against hers to steady his intense trembling. “She attacks aggressively at first, only to falter,” 

Ellana did as he advised holding her barrier steady, both hands gripping the hefty globe, which grew harder to wield with each of Andruil’s assaults. The shower of bolts increased. What began as tiny pellets the size of a raindrop increased gradually in size until huge volleys of magic, shaped like meteors, threatened her hold on the layer of magic protecting them. One slip of her spell, and she and Solas would be flattened. 

Solas squeezed a hand around her’s on the orb. Their bodies pushing against one another to steady themselves in the onslaught. Minutes turned to hours. Hours to days. Ellana wasn’t sure how death worked in the Fade but was certain it was not something she wanted to explore 

“Stop,” Ellana thought when she couldn’t hold on any longer, and the avalanche abated. 

The exertion of the powerful spell exhausted Andruil, who appeared to clutch her body, shaking to fight off mana exhaustion. Ellana could sense her wards on the surface of the ground surrounding her. 

“Keep it simple,” Solas advised beside her. Sweat was dripping down his brow. If they couldn’t escape the Fade, Ellana was sure he might collapse any moment and die. 

Ellana mentally searched through her small arsenal of spells. The orb pulsating in time with her heartbeat. She knew whatever spell she used needed to knock her attacker unconscious. It would make it easier, and perhaps be more merciful to kill her while she was asleep. 

Yes, Andruil had to die. 

The thought struck Ellana suddenly. Somehow she had never considered that outcome before, but now she had never desired something so much before. Rage began to bubble at her fingertips. She remembered the encounter in the hallway, how powerless she had felt when the woman had attempted to take control of her mind. This was different. Ellana had the upper hand.   
  
Solas called for her to stay back. Lightning or even fire might work, he argued. His body was calm, but his words pleading. Was she walking? Ellana didn’t think she was moving, only to find her feet stepping forward. She and Andruil locked eyes, the rest of the Fade vanishing except for their unbroken gaze. 

“You don’t know how to use the Orb,” Andruil mocked when Ellana was in earshot. 

It was true, Ellana admitted to herself. Still, she could feel its power twisting with her own, directing it with surgical precision. Raising the mythical artifact in her hand, Ellana thought to dispel the wards, and each vanished in compliance. The sudden disappearance made Andruil falter a bit. Her expression twisting to worry for the first time. 

Ellana thought to do the same to Andruil, simply make her vanish at whim, but no matter how she framed the intention, it didn’t happen. Instead, Ellana closed the distance between them, heat rising to the palm of her hand. Reaching out, Ellana called electricity to her fingers. 

Andruil rose her staff defensively about to drag up a last reserve of energy only for Ellana to send a gust of air towards her and knock her askew. The electricity continued to rise in the palm of her free hand. 

The moment Andruil regained her balance, Ellana grasped her throat, squeezing the air out of her windpipe, the electricity making Andruil tremble violently. The Orb pulsated in her other hand, augmenting her power until she could smell burning flesh as her enemy gasped. 

Ellana released Andruil when her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her enemy lay on the ground, her jaw slack, blood streaming down her face instead of tears. Leaning down, Ellana examined the face of her enemy. It was still pretty. The long auburn hair splayed out around her perfect face like an Andrastian halo. 

Ellana found satisfaction in finding no evidence of peace on her fallen foe’s face. Her expression listless, her hands turned upward, falling in a disorderly heap. 

Turning on her heel, she looked at Solas, who had kneeled on the ground. His blue eyes looking back at her with pure unadulterated pride. Together, they’d use the Orb to escape the Fade. He would make it to a hospital, and whatever blight had infected him would be easily remedied. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

A bolt of energy struck Ellana with enough force to dislodge the Orb from her grasp. 

Another quickly shot into her, hitting her directly into the heart. 

Blood squelched in every direction. 

  
  



	103. The One Where Solas Tells Ellana He Will Never Forget Her

**CHAPTER 103**

The moment Andruil struck Ellana, she collapsed again. 

In his panic, Solas momentarily thought to use his last bit of strength to kill his captor. The effort would be terminal, but he thought it was a fitting punishment considering that his poor decisions had led to Ellana’s death. 

A sputter from Ellana’s mouth, however, stopped him from enacting revenge. 

Crawling on the ground, Solas gathered the art historian in his arms, calling whatever remaining control he was capable of so that he might comfort her in her last moments. The projectile that Andruil had shot into her had vanished upon impact, causing her blood to drain from her body rapidly. 

Kneeling, he looked into his beloved’s face once more. Gently scooping Ellana into his lap. Solas saw that the light was quickly fading from her eyes, only brightening momentarily when they found his own. Briefly, he thought to console her that everything would be alright. Seeing her fear, however, quiet, he knew he had already lied enough to the woman he loved. 

Ellana whimpered a bit, as if to speak. 

“Shh,” he said, rocking her gently. “I have you. I know. I know--you don’t need to talk.” 

Glancing down at the deep wound in Ellana’s chest Solas confirmed that even if he had all the resources of his magic or a completely sterile surgery room at his disposal, that it wouldn’t have been able to save her. The blood had nearly drained from her body. Her heart lacerated to shreds. 

He bit back a sob. There would be time to mourn later. Right now, he had to stay in the present for Ellana’s sake. 

Flashing back in his mind, he remembered how he had found Mythal in a similar state. That had been terrible. However, this was much worst. It felt like he was splitting into two. There was no recovery from Ellana’s death. 

Looking at the Orb in Ellana’s hand, Solas thought to take it and use it to heal her before it was too late, but when he reached out, and he touched it, it burned him upon contact. Cursing, he saw blisters spreading against his palm. 

“ _Ar Lath Ma Vhenan_ ,” He breathed, smoothing Ellana’s hair back as he had done so many times before, tracing the edges of her lips. The blood was gurgling at the back of her throat. A minute, if not seconds, were all that she had left. 

“I will never forget you,” He said pitifully, drawing her up securely to his chest. For a moment, he could feel her hand tighten around his and then fall slack to the ground. 

\---

“I didn’t mean to ambush you,” Felix said to Solas the moment they reached his upstairs study. “Nor ruin Ellana’s birthday party.” 

Solas had been confused when he saw the mage from his Tevinter mission arrive on his doorstep. At first, he felt the inkling of a threat that Felix might out him, and therefore his secrets to Ellana. However, Solas paused, detecting the bit of worry lingering in Felix’s voice. Something dire had happened to spur the young man to flee to his apartment. 

Accustomed to subterfuge, Solas knew that Felix would seek him out in time, which he did, with a request to view the rest of the neurologists’ art collection. 

“My father has gone missing. Thanks to our mutual friends, I was able to escape in the middle of the night when some of my father’s more disreputable guests came to raid the estate--” Felix explained wearily, looking out of the door. “Dorian thinks I’m just here on a visiting professorship.” 

“That’s awful,” Solas commiserated. 

“Well, there isn’t anything of value left. Outside of my trust. Fortunately, I had--” Felix paused, pulling out a long chain made out of twisted gold ropes with twin dragon heads holding a large Fade crystal. 

“Creators,” Solas said, his voice strained. 

“The Inquisition shouldn’t have this…I don’t trust them.” 

“As intelligent as that instinct is, do you really believe I should?” Solas said. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt; we are about to cut the cake.” Ellana’s clear voice rang out in the hallway forcing Felix to thrust the amulet into Solas’ hands, tucked it inside his breast pocket. It was flat, even if it was long, and checking his breast pocket. 

“Ah,” Felix explained the moment she made it to the door, “Forgive me, I pulled Solas away from the party to see this painting. You see, I had tried to buy the work from Dorian when I saw it in his studio and discovered in the car ride over that Solas was the owner.” 

Solas nodded in agreement, leaning against his gigantic desk as if nothing was the matter. 

“Of course,” Ellana replied dryly. “Did I mention the cake? Strawberry?” 

“Cake!” Felix exclaimed, raising his hands in an exaggerated salute. “I’ll head right down.” 

\---

Solas gazed down at his suit, marveling that the amulet still lay there intact. There had been a few near discoveries both on Ellana and Andruil’s part. At least Ellana would have just thought it to be some fancy gem. Andruil, not so much. 

Setting Ellana gently down, he tugged at the strand, releasing it from his pocket. 

Holding it in his fingers, he marveled at it. The crystal which had been dull in the waking world was glowing brightly—a rustling sound from where Andruil’s direction spurred Solas into action. 

He strung the necklace around his neck, holding Ellana up so she would be included as he attempted to weave together a spell. 

Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to bend the amulet to his will. Although he had been tempted to, on occasion, to test out the experimental magic, he had resisted. If he could go back a few minutes, even he might have a chance to save Ellana, or at the very least, trade places with her. 

He expected the spell to be unobtainable. However, it came to him easily as if time had always been his to bend to his will. 

A buzzing sound began to emit from the device. Frantically grabbing Ellana, Solas was aware of the Fade around him melting. For a while, all he could see was a thick swirling atmosphere. What felt like wind whipped his face raw. The pressure around him was about to burst. He gripped Ellana’s body more tightly to his chest, clenching his eyes close. 

Suddenly, things settled. A familiar clicking sound played in the background. Was that Mythal’s clock? Opening his eyes, Solas gasped because surrounding him was the kitchen from her estate. The large marble countertops were smeared in blood. 

Ellana’s blood? 

No, this wasn’t right. This was not how it happened. 

Solas gazed down at Ellana’s still body, seeing that the Orb still lay in her hand. He didn’t dare touch it again, even as it rolled out of her hands, crashing to the floor, flickering like a homing beacon in the still air. 

Pulling out the amulet again, Solas willed them forward in time. To the moment right before Ellana fell. The landscape was identical. His lover sprinting towards him, ebullient with victory. 

There was no preamble to arriving back in the same scene. Ellana was standing, walking back to him, grinning. He grabbed the amulet. His magic grabbed hold of the power racing through it. He could visualize a string, thinking it to be a measure of time, willing it to spool itself slower. 

Jumping up, Solas called on his last reserve of strength, using his mana to propel him forward, tackling Ellana to the ground as Andruil threw out the first missile, taking it directly in his gut, the edge of the mana slicing it open. 

The world went black. 


	104. The One Where Ellana Finds Some Answers

**CHAPTER 104**

“Solas!” Ellana screamed. Falling to her knees beside him, she feared she was too late. His eyes were clenched tight, an expression of pain twisting his classical features. 

She thought to attempt to heal him with the Orb again when she noticed a peculiar amulet around his neck. It was a long gold chain crafted to look like a pair of dragon heads clutching an iridescent crystal in their mouths. He hadn’t been wearing it moments prior.

Ellana heard a snap of Andruil’s staff. If she didn’t react, she’d be hit too. Then there would truly be no hope for either of their survival. 

Reaching to touch Solas’ chest, Ellana’s hand collided with the stone, and the world around her dissipated in a moment. Ellana clung to Solas’ body, the Orb between them, unable to process what was happening--willing with every fiber of her being that they might land somewhere safer. If not, the waking world. 

Ellana didn’t realize that she was screaming until she felt a reassuring hand on her back. Her chest was heaving with panic. All she could think about was getting Solas somewhere safe so she could devise a plan to heal him before it was too late. 

“It’s alright,  _ da’len.  _ You are both safe for the time being. _ ”  _ Ellana recognized Mythal’s voice. Opening her eyes, she made out the fuzzy outline of the aged women’s face. She was wearing the same suit that Ellana had last seen her in and was crouching next to Ellana and Solas, rubbing circles on her back like her mother had when she was small. 

“It’s alright,” Mythal repeated. Her mouth was inexplicably moving now. 

“Solas. We need to help him, can’t you--” Ellana said, desperately watching as his breathing grew more shallow. The blood had slowed but was still dropping down onto the white tile floor. 

“I’ve been ready for a few hours now,” Mythal pointed to the stovetop where she was boiling water. On the stovetop. Ellana could smell herbaceous mixtures wafting in the summer heat. A beam of sunlight fell onto the marble kitchen island that Ellana recognized from her dreams through an overhead spotlight.

Was this the afterlife? Were they dead? 

With a flick of her wrist, Mythal raised Solas onto the stretch of stone, as if to lay him on an altar. Her hand stroking his brow as she shushed his painful moans as if he were a child suffering from a bee sting. 

“He’s grown into quite a fine man,” Mythal said wistfully before reaching out a hand to help Ellana up. “You can leave the Orb on the floor. It won’t go anywhere child, come help me unwrap this wound.” 

Ellana did as she was told, unbuttoning Solas’ shirt, careful not to touch the amulet that still rested on his chest lest it fling them away from their safe harbor. When she had peeled back the layer of fabric, she gasps seeing how the wound was already beginning to fester. 

Mythal approached with a hammered copper bowl from one of the counter. It was brimming with a mysterious liquid full of purple blooms that she poured directly on the wound. With wonder, Ellana watched as Solas’ skin knitted back together, unbroken and whole. 

“Are we still in the Fade?” Ellana asked when she saw peace settle on Solas’ features. He was sleeping now, deeply. 

“We might be. Or we might not be in either. Who is to say?” 

“Then how is this possible?” That specific question had lost meaning to Ellana after the events of the past year. Still, sometimes it was good to clarify. 

“I could give you several technical explanations, mostly about how the magic that you and Solas used coalesced in a time loop. How you were here before, only in different circumstances. Only that story we don’t have, ironically, time for, as Andruil is on her way here right now to kill me as it were.” 

“Aren’t you already dead?” Ellana bluntly protested, stepping back until she hit one of the walls behind her. She began to shake, thinking she might be in the presence of some unnatural thing or harmful demon. It would have been prudent to cast some form of barrier or another defensive spell. Only Ellana was near exhaustion. 

“Come with me. There is much to explain and little time.” 

“Solas--”

“He will be fine. Let him sleep. There are other wounds still, but those can wait until you are safely back in your present world. In the interim, there is something you need to do for me.” 

“Pardon?” Ellana couldn’t imagine what favor this powerful woman might need from her. She didn’t need a treatise on potion-making to tell her the arcane remedy that Mythal had poured onto Solas’ gut was an alchemical formula out of legends. 

“In the living room, there is tea.” Mythal chided, clicking her tongue. Ellana could feel a ripple of mana tickling her nose. It was dark and stormy, and so she complied, following Mythal down a path she was certain she had traveled down before. The shape of the house she was in was identical to what she had found in the Fade. Only there was a tangible quality that was inexplicably entirely different. 

At the end of the hallway, Mythal gestured for Ellana to sit on a leather couch. The furniture was all the same, only arranged much differently. Looking out the window, Ellana saw a field of knotty vines in perfect rows. 

“Sit,” Mythal said, her voice intensifying as she handed Ellana a stemless teacup. It was more of a black ceramic bowl. Ellana thought she smelled chamomile and peppermint, but it was sweet like cinnamon when she went to taste the liquid. 

“In much different circumstances, you might be in Solas’ place now, but I’m afraid that due to the misbegotten beliefs of the Evanurius, we never thought that a Dalish would be born with the powers you have. That and your clan would never have given you up.” 

“I-I’m not sure what you mean,” Ellana said, cocking her head in confusion. 

“Solas is a dreamer, as was much more common when the worlds were first split... Only you are truly a product of the world now, a Fade Walker. Someone who can walk freely in both worlds without reprisal or sickness, using both sets of magic. You are unique.” 

“Your time?” Ellana stuttered. It was hard to grasp that point in particular. 

“You see, I am of Arlathan. The one from your legends. As are some of the other Evanurius.” 

Ellana’s chest heaved with the information. A steady hand squeezed her arm, urging Ellana to take another sip from her bowl. The warm liquid calming her. 

“I made the Orb,” Mythal confessed with a wry smile. “There was a war, the details of which were thousands of years in the making. I was not considered much more than a kept woman there, a witch with unusual hobbies that my husband, the King, indulged me. The spheres you’ve come across used to be women’s work, fun little games--until I melded together all the elements into one single foci.” 

“Creators,” Ellana exclaimed, taking another large drink. Whatever was in the brew helped her quell the mixed feelings of panic and elation. 

“The king stole the Orb from me.” Mythal leaned back against the couch, fingering a strand of pearls. “Only he didn’t expect that the orb was joined to me, its maker. In revenge, I called it back to me and toppled his armies with a single thought. It was brutal, but it was justice.” 

Ellana recalled the river of blood and corpses that had pulled her under its foul surface. Images of elves in scale armor slaughtering each other flashed in the back of her mind. 

“The reprisals grew worse from the kingdoms. You see, although I was the strongest, I was not the only formidable mage. Tyrants ruled their kingdoms, and every day was a slaughter. So I called a peace talk, only to seal away those responsible away in another world. One where we could not walk so the People might be free.” 

“How are you here now then?” Ellana gestured to the room around her. 

“Doppelgangers,” Mythal said. “Slowly over hundreds of years, those of us dreaming in the Fade were able to project into the waking world, much as Solas can as he does from the waking world. We were ghosts at first, simply a life force clinging to whatever we encountered. Then a more solid form. In the waking world, the elven kingdom rose and fell to Tevinter. Suddenly, a group of Imperial mages--”

“Wanted to go to the Black City,” Ellana finished with a soft gasp. It was an old legend. One she barely believed in. A group of magisters thought to physically enter the Fade, thinking to find the golden throne that Andraste had dreamed about. 

“I was shaken awake by a pudgy human face who demanded to know where the Maker was. I laughed and told him that if he wanted to understand the secrets of the world, I was the one to speak with, only to watch as his life force drained from him as a blight consumed him. Hence the Darkspawn.” 

“Darkspawn...are…” 

“Real.” Mythal tutted. “Thousands of years past, nevertheless, they were real until the magic faded. Blights rose and fell. The people forgot, changed. And then we entered the modern age were lighting a candle is considered a miraculous act, and science and technology rule the day.” 

“Why could you not use the Orb from the waking world to change things or put them into balance?” 

“I am not of it. I can influence the Fade, but my magic is not recognized in the waking world other than party tricks” Mythal shrugged. “There has not been one who can traipse through both worlds until you were born in an obscure stretch of the Free Marshes. A neurological adaptation formed out of both worlds pushing and pulling against one another. Fortunate now.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Ellana said, realizing that Mythal had asked a boon of her. Remembering how the spirit of Mythal had drawn her forward, taking over her body, she was not sure if she had a choice. 

“Andruil was always the most erratic of us.” Mythal nodded, persisting in her explanation without pause. “She wants to find the Orb and then use Solas to exit back to the fixed place you call the “waking world.” The Andrastians have a lot of ideas about the body and what they term a soul. Solas would scoff at that, but let us, for simplicity’s sake, say that the Evanurius, including myself, can transmit our consciousness out but then are unable to reunite with our foundational body without a conduit…”

“Yet, you were a spirit. I’m not sure of the tense…” Ellana trailed off. 

“Yes, because Andruil killed me. An occurrence that will surprise her as much as myself. She thought only to cause a little pain in a bid to punish me for trying to end the Evanurius' hold on the present world. A murder made possible by Solas traveling back in time, with you carrying the Orb, opening up the Fade. Another convenient accident. One of happenstance, we can only hope.” 

“I’m lost,” Ellana lamented. “This is all..” 

“The mind fixes on certain traumas. When he wanted to save you, he came back here, pulling you both out of the Fade. Just as the worlds were split, I was split and so...have nudged from the sidelines all these years, waiting for your time--waiting for you, Ellana.” 

Ellana set down the ceramic vessel, pulling her arms around herself. 

“I need you to release the Evanurius. It is time for this saga to end." 

Mythal rose, offering Ellana a hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythal has strong "I want Cersei to know it was me" vibes in this chapter. 
> 
> I think I've explained some of the time travel/what was up well. I might go back and tweak a bit if its unclear.


	105. The One Where Solas Stirs Awake

**CHAPTER 105**

Solas woke up on a marble slab. His eyes fluttered in the bright light. He wasn’t sure if he was in a hospital or dead. Looking down he saw his suit was torn and covered in blood; his blood. A cool hand stroked his temple lulling him back down flat. He could feel his life force draining from him 

Early in his stay with Mythal, Solas had contracted pneumonia. Mythal had nursed him with her own concoctions, old brews made out of fermented elf root stalks and kitchen table salt. She had sweated the sickness out of his body, cooling his forehead with damp rags until he was breathing freely again. 

It was not a noteworthy memory except for it being the first time that someone had shown the young Solas kindness. Until then he had been wading a turbulent sea, trying to hold on to anything steady. 

“I remember that too,” Mythal’s voice said to him. The light blinded him, but he could picture a smile on her lips. 

Fingers slid a piece of paper into his chest pocket. 

“Tell Morrigan to give you what’s written down. It will draw the blight out.” 

“Ma Lanalin--” Solas sputtered. Every part of him ached. A warm bowl was raised to his lips. He could see the outline of a concerned Ellana, her hand drawn to her pursed lips. The light above him moved and then there was nothing but a pleasant wave of darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma Lanalin=my mother


	106. The One Where Ellana Goes On A Last Voyage

**CHAPTER 106**

Ellana had run to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. It was both strange to her, but somehow fitting, that Andruil would announce her arrival on Mythal’s home. She hadn’t lingered long enough to overhear the small talk. Mythal’s voice pleasant as she spoke an ancient dialect of Elvhen Ellana couldn’t understand. 

Mythal had given her specific instructions, the success of which was not guaranteed. Ellana kept moving at a frenetic pace. If she paused, she was certain she’d freeze, as too much depended on her. If she failed, both worlds would fall. 

On the counter, resting on Solas’ chest, was a bowl waiting for Ellana just as Mythal said it was. 

Stooping to pick up the orb, cradling it to her chest, she used her free hand to take the crystal dish and light a flame at its center, burning the incense in the bottom of the dish. 

Inhaling the fragrant herbs, Ellana could feel her eyes rolling back into her head. 

\---

Ellana was writhing on gold tile, foaming at the mouth. 

A few painful jerks, and she regained her mobility, relieved to find the Orb next to her waiting. 

Standing, she looked up at gold mosaic walls reminiscent of the ruin that had haunted her dreams. Basalt stone arches towering on a verdant hill, except looking out over the edge, Ellana observed swirling fog. If she squinted, she could make out similar floating islands and distant crystal spires. 

_“You will go to the liminal space where the worlds meet,”_ Mythal had advised. _“The ancient Elvhen would navigate such spaces by stars, repeat the prophecy to yourself when you inhale the contents of the bowl, and the Orb will bring you there, where you will find….”_

A large room. A ceiling formed out of thick cumulus clouds that stirred uneasily. At the center was a round table fashioned out of a violet stone strewn with seven bodies who had fallen 

Ellana approached carefully. The Orb would protect her. Still, she flinched with a bit of horror, making out the slack faces. She had seen mummified remains in her tenure as an art historian. Some preserved purposefully by the Nevarrans, others by bogs in the Free Marshes. However, the corpses that greeted her were waxy, resembling a glassy surface, the mouths frozen into screams. Crystalized by the passage of countless eons. 

Worst were the eyes that watched her moving towards them. Each iris darting about to follow her movements. Ellana had experienced intense pain before, both personally and second hand. She thought of Valorian, the boy she and Solas had healed on the reservation. The charcoal blackness of his charred limbs and fingers had haunted her. 

Nothing compared to the type of torment she could feel in the air. 

Raising the Orb, she thought of a warm fire. A snap of her fingers, and the sky cleared, revealing a mass of stars that fell from the sky in tiny prisms washing away the old elven rulers. First their skin, and then their bones, until all that was left was a gold glow illuminating ancient corners that would not be walked upon again. 

\---

Ellana was back in Mythal's kitchen.

She could hear Mythal trying to reason with a belligerent Andruil in the adjacent room, feet darting as the women cursed one another. 

A flash, and Ellana grabbed an unconscious Solas’ hand. He was breathing more steadily, but she could see the fight going on within him to cling to life. 

“A little longer, please.” She whispered as her fingers reached for the time travel amulet to find Andruil’s eyes staring up at her. A flicker of her honey eyes and Ellana recognized the look of defeat. 

Her enemy was wobbling unsteadily on her feet from where she had shot both Ellana and Solas. 

Ellana could feel Andruil’s mana building. Her willpower stoking the flame of power.

Holding up the orb, she braced herself. 

_“Objects are the products of consciousness._ ” Mythal had mused philosophically in her kitchen, mixing a potion. _“They are prosthetics in a way for every inchoate whim or belief. You should be able to use the Orb to think your way through your problems. Failure will only result if you are unable to tap your robust imagination…”_

Ellana wavered for a moment, trying to envisage a solution. Blasting Andruil had failed to work before. 

Another flash, and she realized that the black abyss had melted away again. 

They were back in the kitchen. Solas was clutching her on the ground. Blood covering every surface. Only Ellana was apart from that. A blink of the eyes, and the memory evaporated. 

Andruil gasped. Her skin was pallid in the perplexing light of the Fade. Dark storms gathered overhead, heavy with an impossible rain. 

Ellana thought back to the moment when Deshannah had handed her the hunting knife her father had used. The blade was so beautiful, a slight curve to allow it to cleave flesh easily from his trips into the woods to provide for her family. 

She thought of how much she wanted that knife now, and it appeared in her hand. 

Without preamble, Ellana thrust it into Andruil’s beating heart and watched as the woman turned to ash, floating away as if she had never been there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to kill Andruil off differently but changed it for Aisteach and GaleGreylen who thought it be satisfying to stab her in the heart.


	107. The One Where Solas Regains Consciousness

**CHAPTER 106**

Solas woke up in a dim room. Fluorescent light flickered across beige walls. He tried to move his hand, and then his leg, but every part of his body ached. The physical pain was reassuring. He was no longer trapped in the Fade. 

As his eyes began to focus, he recognized the print of his gown and the pastel pink curtains of the hospital he had worked in over the last decade. The steady beeping of machines calmed him, especially as he realized that tubes and cords were attached across his skin, a few sensors on his chest, tracking his heartbeat. 

He had survived. 

Shifting in his bed, he was surprised to feel the weight of a warm body next to him. Turning his head as much as his body allowed, he made out the familiar silhouette of Ellana sleeping on her side, a mess of blonde hair tousled on her own pillow. 

Sensing his movement, she sat up slowly in the bed and landed on the floor, movements careful enough that Solas suspected they were well-practiced. How long had he been in the hospital? 

“Solas?” The sound of her voice, although worried, soothed him. 

“Ellana,” He attempted to answer only to find that an oxygen mask around his nose and mouth stifled his reply. 

“One moment,” Ellana said, mournfully sinking into a chair pulled up next to the bed before jumping straight up. Solas could feel her hand gently cup the side of his face. “I’ll get Morrigan.” 

He seized her arm, a touch more than a grab. Ellana snapped back to look at him, her eyes intense and worried. 

“I’m glad you are safe,” She whispered, kneeling over to kiss him on the temple. “There is much to explain, but I think you should rest a bit more." 

He attempted to answer only for her to shush him, her hand lightly squeezing his hand. 

“You aren’t going to be able to speak. The doctors were worried you wouldn’t make it.” Her voice was measured, careful until the last sentence, emotion cracking to the surface. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it, but you’re here now.” 

Solas nodded, sinking back into the pillows. A small exhale escaped his lips as he lifted his trembling hand to trace one of the _vallaslin_ branches on Ellana’s cheek. He tried to convey how much he felt for her--how sorry he was for his irresponsible actions, the secrets, and his abandonment. 

“The Evanuris are gone, dead.” Ellana continued, her hand stroking the side of his face. “You’re free.” 

Solas didn’t have long to dwell on the message, as sleep overcame him in a matter of seconds. 

\---

Solas woke again. This time the room was bright with daylight. He was relieved to find that the oxygen mask was gone, replaced by a tube that fit snugly in either nostril. He didn’t have any firm memories of the last few days. Occasionally his eyes would flutter open to see Ellana or Morrigan staring down at his face. On one occasion, he thought he heard Leliana talking softly to him. 

It was a surprise, instead, to recognize the silver shag haircut of Fenris. The artist was sitting next to his bed in a pink chair, sipping what smelled like coffee from a paper cup. 

“You’re up,” his voice said to him. 

“Where--?” Solas still couldn’t form clear words, but the artist seemed to gather his meaning. 

“La is in the cafeteria with Dorian and Bull. Had to force her to eat.” 

Solas was further surprised when the artist lifted a straw to his lips. His touch gentile and calm. “Morrigan said to give you ice water.” 

"Although he still felt groggy, it was the most alert Solas had been since exiting the Fade, even if he wasn’t exactly sure when that was. 

“You were in the Fade for days. Cassandra thought La had died, so she called me,” Fenris continued with his usual brevity to explain his presence. “I wasn’t planning to stay long,”

Solas could only nod, drawing a hand up to his chest. The steady hum of the oxygen reassured him. 

“I’m glad to see you are better.” Fenris continued awkwardly, adjusting the straw for Solas to have a better angle. “Don’t rush.”

The cool water on his lips soothed him. 

\---

It was another week before Solas was awake long enough to hold a conversation. He had bounced back and forth in unstable consciousness. He woke mostly to see Ellana, sometimes Leliana, and once a disgruntled looking Briala. Another week passed before Solas could walk the short distance down the hallway to the end and back again. It took him around an hour to make the whole circuit. As he gained back strength, Ellana’s visits grew shorter. Although they had not bridged any difficult topics since their last foray, Solas knew it was coming. 

One day Ellana arrived, and a nurse had helped him pull on a soft t-shirt and pair of scrub pants. He might have resisted Ellana seeing him in such a weak state, but he had an odd pride in his ability to move again. In the wheelchair, Ellana had wheeled him out to one of the gardens. They were alone except for the sound of birdsong. 

Ellana pushed him around the verdant gardens for a while. A former palace, the hospital had a beautiful courtyard with thick bushes of flowers. When the air grew hot, the two of them sat down on a bench.

"Did you love Andruil?" Ellana asked. She was wearing a long black t-shirt dress, a pair of sunglasses perched carefully on her head. She had tanned over the past week given the time that she and Dorian spent lounging by the pool in the afternoons. 

"No," he said. It was decisive. 

"The Orb? Were you searching for it for yourself?" 

Solas shook his head. He had hashed this out with Leliana, who had calmed hearing of how Solas had foiled Andruil's attempts to steal the legendary artifact. Leliana, however, had wanted him to confirm a different type of innocence than the one Ellana was searching for. One he was worried he would never be able to prove. 

"I've been trying to understand," Ellana spoke in a measured voice. Each word parsed carefully as if she had been holding them in for months. "I find it easier to comprehend Mythal's identity--or what I perceive as her true identity--but I find it harder to empathize with your decisions. It is hard for me to forget that in another time and place, perhaps still floating out there in the ether, that I died as a result of your actions." 

"I love you," Solas insisted. "I know that might be hard to believe."

"I believe your love," Ellana said in Elvhen with a sigh. "Nevertheless, it is hard to believe much else. If you had demonstrated even a modicum of sense, you would have told me what was going on. We could have worked together. I thought that was the plan. I understand you were desperate. I understand that you were frightened and a long-abused agent of the Nightingale's. I can forgive you some of this--"

Solas sat silently. He could feel his face flinching.

"What I can't forgive you for, however, is holding everything back from me while trying to make it appear as if you were giving me every part of yourself. As I was giving you every part of myself. It makes it hard to know what is real and what is not." 

Silent tears began to stream down Ellana's face. Solas realized, reaching up to his own, that he, too, was crying. 

"I've decided," Ellana said with a gasp. "I am going back to the commune. I am going to work there. I have a grant--"

"You and Fenris are together?" Solas said with a knee-jerk realization. "After all of this? I should have known." 

"I think who I may or may not be with is none of your business," Ellana snarled. "You voided this relationship when you left." 

"Ellana, this can be worked through." 

"No," Ellana put her hands up. "I need to be done. Do you know what I did after you left?" 

Solas shook his head, trying not to wince at how sad Ellana sounded. 

"I slept on the living room couch, hoping that you'd return. I turned into a woman desperate to be with a particular person, rather than a ruler of her own life. That will not happen to me again. I am determined..." 

Birds bobbled about the garden, landing in the bushes and then flittering away again as Ellana and Solas passed minutes in tense silences. 

"If this is goodbye," he said carefully, straining to rub a hand over his face. "Thank you for saving my life, and for the time we spent together that was untroubled." 

Ellana nodded, a small satisfied smile flickering to her lips. "I could say the say the same to you." 

She reached over, taking Solas' hand in her own, a small squeeze, and then, "Would you like me to wheel you back to your room? Dagna wants to visit if you have the energy."

"Please," Solas said, not wanting to let go of his beloved. Not wanting those to be the last words she ever said to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still promise a happy ending. 
> 
> p.s. you might be saying to yourself, but what of the Orb. ALL WILL BE REVEALED.


	108. The One Where Hawke Appears

**CHAPTER 107**

Varric shoved a small pile of paperbacks to Ellana the moment she took a seat at the Kirkwall. It was her goodbye party. The next morning she and Fenris would make the drive back to the commune where she’d spend the winter, if not the spring. For the first time in her life, she did not have a plan. 

“Thought you might need some leisurely reading material.” The dwarf joked. “Some of my recent works, all self-published, of course. You might recognize a certain blonde bombshell mage who takes no prisoners.” 

“Oh Varric,” she exclaimed leaning down to kiss her friend on the cheek. 

“Don’t tell Sparkles, but I couldn’t kill her off, you know considering…”

“This is the greatest honor I have ever received,” Ellana laughed, accepting a coupe of sparkling wine. 

When Ellana emerged from the Fade with an unconscious Solas in tow, she had been worried that her friends would be suspicious of her after she attacked Leliana. Instead, they had all sprung into action to help her into the back of an ambulance. When she had protested being separated from Solas, Leliana had made sure they could stay together on the helicopter to Val Royeaux. 

It had been a long trip. Solas had flatlined more than once. His injuries had resisted her magic, but the Orb had enabled her to stabilize him. 

Two months had passed, and September had arrived. Once it was clear that Solas would pull through, her days grew leisurely, even fun. She and Dorian spent afternoons preparing his condo for the newborns, painting an elaborate forest scene on each wall, and assembling furniture. 

Sometimes they’d lounge by the pool as Ellana sewed baby clothes and knitted little sweaters and embroidered flowers along the edges. Dorian reading parenting manuals. 

It was good. 

When Fenris’ residency in Denerim finished he had called her on one of the last hot summer nights. It was a short conversation. 

“Ready?”

“What time?” She said taking out a cardboard box from one of the closets. 

  
Fenris was sitting beside her at the bar lazily clutching a glass of club soda, a lime wedge floating amidst a bed of ice. Ellana had turned to hug Cassandra and Gaylen when she heard him softly gasp. Worried that Fenris had hurt himself, Ellana turned to see him stuck dumb by the appearance of a tall brunette human. 

She recognized the unadulterated lust on his face. He had looked at her that way when they met at a college party. She wasn’t jealous exactly, but it was a reminder of her failed romance. If she were lucky, maybe there would be another opportunity to meet someone new.

“Meet my accountant, Hawke.” Varric grinned at Fenris. 

Without explanation. Cassandra dropped her whiskey, the glass breaking on the floor muttering the words subpoena to a weary-looking Gaylen. 

Ellana slid out to the back porch to give Fenris space to flirt with the accountant. She didn’t want to block his attempts at happiness. Opening the screen door, she found the Nightingale in a feet up on the table, in a matching purple short and hoodie set. A pair of Birkenstocks slid onto her manicured feet. 

The spymistress had just returned from her impromptu honeymoon with Vivienne in Antiva.   
  
“I thought we should talk before the Inquisition allows you to flee the country.”

Ellana had been expecting the conversation. Greeting Leliana with a hug. 

“The Orb?” Leliana asked once Ellana sat down at the picnic table. 

“It’s hidden. Somewhere safe. I think it might be wise for only me to know. Maybe it can be lost. I know I want nothing to do with it.” 

Ellana pictured the ancient room she had located shortly after returning to the waking world. She was certain that if the Nightingale really wanted to, she’d be able to find where she had left the Orb, but fortunately, as Mythal had pointed out, no one really thought to ask the Dalish their secrets. Certainly, Keeper Hawen had been surprised to see her show up for an afternoon and then seemingly vanish. 

Leliana nodded. 

“Although, Mythal gave me a bit of advice before I left. It seems as if the Veil can be shifted a bit, allowing magic back in. However, I’m sure we can agree that such a change should be gradual.” 

“I think I can live with this.” Leliana nodded. “We’ll be in touch, however.” 

“Of course,” Ellana said, taking a sip of her coupe. 

“How is Solas?” Ellana asked, reaching down into her large purse and taking out a large leather portfolio of papers, freshly signed and notarized. 

“He’s resigned. I’ve persuaded him to take a break. He’s back in his apartment, and I’ve hired some nurses to take care of him. I think he’s deeply sorry for what it is worth.” 

“I know. I need some…”

Leliana patted her hand. “It will be good for you to be at that commune. Although I don't think this is the last we'll be seeing each other. 

Remembering the binder in her hand, Ellana slid them over to Leliana. “These are granting him his estate back. I put back all the things I took from his apartment shortly after we returned. Would you be so kind as to note to him that I made no use of it?” 

Leliana laughed, a little sadly. “If you’d like.” 

Dorian and Bull emerged, followed by Cassandra and Gaylen. For a time the group chatted about nothing, making jokes, avoiding the inevitable subject of her departure. A year ago, Ellana had arrived lonely not knowing a single person in Val Royeaux. Now she had a loving group of friends who had become the family she never had. 

Dagna ambled in a little later carrying a large plate of cookies that she shared with the bar. 

Josephine and Blackwall came in towards the end of the evening. 

“We’re engaged!” The Antivan beauty screamed jumping up and down. 

Another bottle of champagne, on the house, was poured. 

For a moment, Ellana thought she should stay. However, looking up at the dark sky, thinking of all that had happened, she listened to the cars passing by. Everything was so very loud, and all she wanted was a bit of quiet. 


	109. The One Where Ellana and Solas Repair A Bit of Damage

**CHAPTER 109**

It was an early morning in January. Ellana stepped off the front porch of her one-room cottage, admiring the frost spreading across the ground that morning. She thought to go for a long walk when she spotted a car making the drive up a long gravel driveway to a small garage full of landscaping equipment and power tools. 

She recognized the car immediately. It was a classic black car, kept perfectly clean. Plopping down on the chair on her front porch, Ellana watched with mixed feelings as Solas Fen’Harel stepped out of the car. 

He wore a long wool coat, a red plaid scarf, and a matching hat that made him appear comically overdressed for the rugged terrain. When the light caught his pale blue eyes, Ellana could discern a look of hopefulness that both made her heart flutter and riled her into anger. She was relieved, at the very least, to see how he had filled out some from the last time they had been together. Most of his diminished strength had returned in the line of his shoulders. 

However, his gait towards her was soft and cautious. 

“What are you doing here?” Ellana exclaimed before he could reach her cottage, leaning back in the old wooden chair like a tyrant on a golden throne. 

Solas placed a hand over his pale eyes to shield them from the light before calling back. 

“Fenris and I chatted. He asked me to check on you. Was quite insistent that I come and bring you supplies.” 

Ellana had been alone on the ranch for the past couple of weeks. There was a spare car that she could drive if she wanted it. Usually, however, she took the bus into town for her weekly trek for groceries and checking her email. Most of her time was spent outside watching the sky or writing on the same desk she had used to write the bulk of her dissertation. 

It had been a peaceful sojourn. At the end of summer, Dorian and Bull had come to stay, leaving with the other artists to get their condo ready for their newborn daughters. Cassandra and Gaylen had come in late fall, mostly, Ellana suspected to keep an eye on her. 

She had spent Solstice in the city she loved, cooing over Dorian and Bull’s babies with Felix-who now was not only one of her closest friends but also a fellow godparent. 

Sometimes, Fenris would huff in with Hawke on the back of his motorcycle, and the three would sit around a bonfire until the late hours. Admittedly, It had been awkward the first time they had come to stay. Ellana had made a point to avoid the couple, only for Varric’s accountant to find her one afternoon and extend to her a bottle of her favorite Dalish sparkling wine with a grin. 

“Do you wish me to leave?” Solas asked when she didn’t answer. Ellana brightened a bit to see him draw closer, the light dusting of freckles and pale blue eyes that were a regular fixture of her dreams. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” She shouted playfully. “I resent that Fenris thinks I need looking after.” 

“Actually, I editorialized. I called him for the address to write to you, and he recommended that three months was the perfect amount of time to wait until asking your forgiveness and suggested I say whatever needed to be said in person.” 

“Is that what you are here to do?” Ellana asked, cocking her head. 

“I didn’t like how we left things,” Solas admitted coming to rest at the edge of the porch. His hands resting on the white balcony near a tumbling fern Ellana had nurtured from cutting to its full splendor when Fenris had first bought the land. 

“That’s a lousy way to say you’re sorry,” Ellana repeated with a firm frown. Solas balked a bit at her cold tone. 

“I wanted to come and see if we could work through things. If anything, I wanted to apologize for my actions and the hurt they caused you when we were both clear-minded. I think a conversation, at the very least, would do both of us good. If reconciliation is impossible, closure might be found.” 

While lacking in poetry, Solas' words were enough for Ellana to soften enough to ask him, “Do you want to go for a walk?” 

Ellana stood as she asked the question, assuming that Solas would say yes. She was in a water-resistant puffer coat and the hiking boots she had bought with Solas all those months ago to go to Var Bellanaris. 

“Yes, but only because you are wearing weather-appropriate clothing.” 

\---

Fenris had converted the commune from an old campground. There were six cottages total in various states of finish, but all inhabitable. Ellana stayed in the second largest, with a small fire stove and a kitchenette that she never used, preferring to eat sandwiches and fruit instead. 

The center of the commune was a circular patio with a large fire pit. During the summers, most of the meals were cooked outside, where the visiting artists would gather together, and lounge in an assortment of mismatched lounge chairs gathered around the center.

“I understand why you like it here,” Solas said as Ellana loaded on some more wood into the fire pit. She didn’t burn logs in the open area when she was alone on the ranch. With Solas there, however, she thought it would be safe. 

The two had meandered around the countryside, saying everything and nothing at the same time. Solas had insisted on making dinner on her camp stove when the sun set, making the first warm food Ellana had tasted in a while: egg and potato hash. 

“It’s been a good place to recuperate.” She replied. “I needed some time to get things organized. I think it's the first time I’ve ever had to really sort through my life and spend time working on projects I wanted instead of felt obligated to.” 

Solas leaned back into a beach chair that accommodated his long limbs. A couple of thick blankets were drawn up around his shoulders. He was frail at times. His mana sickly feeling as it began to reform. Morrigan had explained that he had been irradiated in a way, almost as if all of his magical capabilities had undergone a bone marrow transplant. He’d likely be able to cast spells, but he’d never be as strong as he once was. 

She had noticed that he had tired a bit more on his walk. He had seemed so inexhaustible before. It worried her thinking of him going through his life in Val Royeaux by himself. A thought she pushed away immediately. Solas had the sort of money to hire a staff for any of his whims. 

Solas sighed, and Ellana did the same. Her heart had softened over the afternoon. She wasn’t ready to completely forgive, however. 

Ellana wasn’t sure what possessed her to sit in the chair beside Solas’ and reached out to touch his arm. 

The familiar smell of Solas’ cologne next to her, reminded her of much she had missed him over the past few months. Closer to him, Ellana could see some more lines around Solas’ eyes. She knew if he lifted his shirt, there’d be subtle pink burn scars from where the Fade had slowly eaten away at his flesh for what amounted to days, if not decades. 

Under the dark sky, the pair sat in silence, neither wanting to move in the event that it ruined the shared peace between them. 

“I bought a new house,” Solas announced a bit later. “It’s in the old alienage. It’s an absolute dive, but I’m renovating most of it myself.” 

“You?” Ellana laughed. 

“Don’t tease. Yes, I’ve hired a contractor to do some of the advanced structural updates. Right now, however, only one room is usable. The old woodwork is amazing. Most of it can be salvaged thanks to what one might call fine elven craftsmanship.” 

“I’d love to see it,” Ellana said before she could stop herself. 

“You’re always welcome.” 

“I’m moving back to Val Royeaux in the Fall when my fellowship is up,” Ellana admitted, she had been holding onto the news for a while, waiting until the time felt right to reveal it. “I got a job offer.” 

“I didn’t know,” Solas admitted, before offering additional explanation. “I’m retired.” 

“From everything?”

“No,” he chuckled, reaching a hand out towards Ellana, who readily took it. “I’m going to be working at the hospital as the Chief of Neurology. Morrigan is quite unhappy about it, but Dagna is happy to be working with me. 

“Please tell me that--” She said, interlocking her fingers with his. 

“I’ve promoted her to working as a special researcher. Really, she gets to do whatever she wants. I have a new assistant named Merril. She’s Dalish, actually.” Solas paused. “What is your job? I didn’t--” 

“It seems the Orlesian crown came into a large amount of Elvhen artworks.” Ellana continued. 

“That I knew,” he admitted. Another pause, “It was time.” 

“According to Briala, one of the stipulations is that the collection be considered for repatriation to the Dalish tribes.”

“It’s a lengthy document,” Solas admitted, squeezing Ellana’s hand. 

“A Dalish curator was another. I understand I was the only available candidate for the job.” 

“Odd how rare you are no matter the context.”   
  
Ellana preened at the compliment. “I’ll be commuting to Halamshiral a few days a week, but I got set up with a nice apartment in one of the quiet historic parts of the city. Paycheck isn’t bad either. I can even get a car!” 

“I think you and Briala will get along,” Solas said, wrapping the blanket tightly around her. “She’s wanted to advance elven civil rights in the kingdom ever since she took up with Celene. Celene does too, only--” 

“Leliana was actually the one to make the offer.” Ellana interrupted. “She misses you.” 

The spymistress had driven out to the commune to ask in person. A taciturn but repentant Vivienne accompanying her. It had been a good visit other than the Nightingale’s sadness at Solas freezing her out of her life.   
  
“That’s a hard friendship to salvage.” 

“I think it's sometimes harder to carry anger with you than an unsteady peace,” Ellana said. “Or at least that’s what I’ve learned.” 

“Is this an unsteady peace?” Solas asked directly, moving to look in Ellana’s eyes. His voice was raspy yet hopeful. 

“I think we can be friends. I’m not sure about--”

“It’s...Ellana, I am glad to be your friend." 


	110. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

It had been a good year. Perhaps the best that Solas ever had. 

It was Harvest Fest, and he was in the kitchen, washing a few dishes when he felt two hands wrap around his middle. 

In the other room, he could hear their chatty friends. Dorian and Bull had arrived first with their infant daughters, followed by Cassandra and Gaylen. When Leliana and Vivienne arrived, the room was hushed a bit, only for Gaylen to make the effort to ask Leliana if she’d like to play the intricate board game that Bull and him had set-up. A small baby--now a toddler-scooped upon his on the qunari's chest; one hand was all that was needed to gently cradle his daughter, Eliza. 

Varric arrived an hour later, followed quickly by his “accountant” Hawke and a churlish looking Fenris. Solas was pleasantly surprised at how that friendship had progressed. At first, he thought it would be awkward between him and the artist but as time went on, he found it easier. He even liked the silver-haired man who drove through the city on his motorcycle to visit with Hawke. 

The newlyweds Josephine and Blackwall arrived next. 

“Hi,” Ellana whispered to him, she was standing on her tip-toes but barely reached his shoulder. Her hands wandered over his chest, dangerously edging along the waist of his pants. “I think everyone is having a good time.” 

Before he could help himself, he had flipped her around, pushing her gently into the countertop with a long passionate kiss that she returned with enthusiasm. 

“I didn’t know Harvestfest at your home would include a show,” Dorian whispered with glee. His sleeping toddler, Adah, resting on his chest oblivious to the world. 

Ellana separated from Solas with a blush. 

If you had asked him a year ago what his life would look like, he never would have guessed it would be this happy. 

\---

On Solas' forty-third birthday Ellana had shown up at his apartment bearing a bottle of wine.   
  
He had left the commune with more hope than he dared. After, Ellana had called him sporadically. Lately, however, he can expect his phone to buzz right before bed. Sometimes they would get into serious debates or heated discussions about the past--their past. Other times, they small talk about the news or he'd share hospital gossip. She was writing another book on Iconoclasm. She's wasn't using her magic, but textual sources piecing together whole swaths of history. 

He’d send her packages. Long letters or books. Once, he had downloaded all the episodes of the Hero of Ferelden and put them on a USB for her to watch. 

The night before she left from Tevinter to drive to Val Royeaux, Ellana had asked if he might want to see her and if she could stop by his townhome. He had been happy to oblige, going to one of the supermarches to pick out fresh ingredients to cook an elaborate meal. 

When he opened the door, he was glad to find Ellana admiring the surrounding neighborhood. It was full of small experimental cafes, rugged galleries with unswept floors, mixed in with corner bodegas. No longer home to just elves, the block was full of small townhomes overlooking a boulevard--some in better repair than others. 

“I thought I might…” Ellana trailed off, holding up the wine bottle in the brown paper bag without ceremony. “Bring this by for your birthday.” 

“That’s kind of you to remember,” Solas said, leaning against the door jam, his fingers going to his lips in consideration. “Would you like a tour?” 

“I-I,” Ellana was stuttering. It was suddenly awkward to be in one another presence after so many months apart. He was sure she had waffled, like he had, over whether or not they should revive their relationship. After more than one late-night phone calls debating if they were healthy for one another, Solas was careful to give her space. 

“I understand if--”

“No, please, I’d love to see.” 

Ellana followed Solas through the door turning to look around at the new scenery. The house was narrow, built for economical space. In the past, the building would have housed multiple families on three floors, but at some point in the last one hundred years or so, it had been converted into a single-family home. It hadn’t had any renovations done for at least half a century. 

“I’m slowly working on it,” Solas said as if to break the ice. 

The two ended up in the kitchen. A small folding table was set-up on a swath of mostly clean linoleum. A pile of boards was in the corner. 

“Are you well? You look--”

“Slowly but surely.” He admitted. 

\---

A week later, Ellana called Solas. He had been waking up slowly in bed. Now with regular hours, he could enjoy the occasional leisurely Saturday. 

“Hi, Solas?" 

“Yes?” He couldn’t help the warmth rising in his voice. 

“There is an estate sale in town that has a number of old house parts from similar Val Royeaux buildings as your home, I thought if you were interested we could go together.” 

“I can pick you up?” Solas offered hesitantly before correcting. “Drive you home this evening?”

“I’d like that.” Ellana breathed into the phone. It sounded as if she was walking outside sipping coffee as she meandered around the boulevard. 

“As friends?” She asked. 

“As friends,” Solas confirmed. 

“You can text me your address,” Solas gently continued. Even if it was banal he loved listening to the sound of her voice again. If he kept speaking, she would.   
  
“I will.” 

“What time should I arrive?” 

“Noon? We’ll be early.” 

The silence was heavy. Expectant. 

“That seems prudent.” 

\---

The Solstice after Ellana moved back to the city, a blizzard raged in the outdoors. She was curled up on the couch in Solas’ living room. It was her favorite room, a large fireplace taking up the widest wall. She’d often read on the floor, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. 

That night, they had finished one of the largest projects, retiling the kitchen floor. There wasn’t much left to do except for small details. 

During the week she’d work at the museum. She was thriving, sorting out the works from the Warehouse and developing a policy group to figure out the next steps for distributing the works internationally. In the near future, she would oversee one of the biggest exhibitions of Elvhen works in the art world. 

On Friday nights she’d show up at Solas’ townhome to work on some new construction project. The ritual had started slowly. An afternoon laying down tile. Another cleaning out birds nests from the rafters or painting a room. Over time, she’d stay for dinner, or sometimes they’d go for a walk around town.

When the weather started to get cold, she’d begun to sleep over in a large guest room, in an antique four-poster bed. The first time had been an accident, snow was falling and the roads were full of black ice. 

_“I could stay in the guest room,”_ Ellana shrugged when they opened the front door, and Solas had blanched at the weather. _“If you don’t mind, of course?”_

Solas had smiled, not answering but nodded. 

After that, she stayed every weekend starting Friday night and staying through Sunday, bringing a bag along. 

A few months prior, at Cassandra’s urging, Ellana had attempted a date. Sat there not listening the entire time. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was in love with Solas. Always would be. There wasn’t anyone else for her. Once dinner was over, she had allowed the man to kiss her on the cheek and then was pleased never to hear from him again. 

Solas sank down in a stuffed armchair next to the couch. She had reupholstered it with an emerald velvet. He crossed his arms on his chest, staring up at where Dorian’s large purple painting hung over the fireplace. 

“Thank you,” Solas said, his deep baritone reverberating. “For your help today.” 

Ellana put down her book. His eyes were twinkling as she looked back. She was wearing a baggy sweater with leggings. Two wool socks on her feet. Her hair piled in a messy top knot. 

It has been this way for the past few weeks. Polite exchanges. Underneath, Ellana thought she detected some longing. Earlier that day, he had accidentally touched her to move past her to begin the process of setting down the tiles. It had made her shiver a bit.

“You don’t have to thank me. Now that I’m not grading papers--.”

Solas smiled at her, picking up his newspaper. He had purchased new reading glasses that hung around his neck and fastened in the middle. Most of their time together is quiet. He had regained a lot of his muscle and was almost as strong as when they had first gone out. Only he’s a little softer along the edges. 

Sometimes Ellana paused to watch Solas work. His broad shoulders rippling underneath a long sleeve t-shirt. 

Glancing over the edge of her book, Ellana couldn't stop admiring him as he paged through the newspaper. It wasn't anything profound that motivated her, but she walked over to his chair. 

Ellana set her hand on his arm, and Solas put down the papers, took off his glasses, and helped Ellana into her old familiar spot on his chest before smoothing back her hair. For a while, they sat there in silence, the unspoken emotions that she had over the last few months swelling in her chest. 

“ _Ma vhenan,”_ she breathed into Solas’ ears before her lips found his. A soft, tentative kiss turning ragged and more desperate in a matter of seconds.

“Is this ok with you?” Ellana asked, planting kisses along his chin and down his throat, her hands wandering to tease his collar.

“Do I really need to answer that?” Solas joked, his fingers tracing the edges of her lips. 

Ellana straddled Solas before he moved them down onto the area rug in front of the fire, the piling thick and the fibers warm as his hands slid underneath her clothes searching for any available skin. By the time he was inside of her, moving slowly, their chest’s grazing one another, she moaned his name with each hot inhale. 

\---

Cassandra staged one quick protest, but all of their friends were jubilant at their reconciliation. Dinner parties came and went, and for a time, it was simple. Solas and Ellana travelled and spent weekends exploring hidden corners of the city.   
  
“Do you want to move to Minrathous?” He asked her early in their second courtship. “I can--” 

“Val Royeaux is growing on me.” She admitted over a homemade dinner. “Besides, I think I have a life here...We have a life here.” 

At first, Ellana still spent the week at her apartment. Eventually, one day early in Spring, Solas came back late from a Saturday emergency. He found Ellana in the garden, her face ruddy from the cold air, almost all the rubbish and brush that had been there that morning was packed into trash bags.   
  
To celebrate, he uncorked them a bottle of wine, and after she explained how she thought the garden should be laid out, the trailing vines on the walls left intact, at the end she turned to him, and said very casually, “I would rather like to live with you again if you would have me.” 

“Never leave,” he responded without hesitation. 

Movers packed her things in cardboard boxes, driving them over the next week. 

\---

“Alright, alright,” Solas laughed in the present as Dorain began to tease Ellana in Tevene. “I came in here to check on the bird. It’s cooking fine. Do we need more wine?”

“Bring the bottle?” she said absently as she took Adah from Dorian and bounced her in her arms. 

Solas did as he was asked. 

Before entering the living room, Solas reached into the breast pocket of his sport coat, double-checking if a small velvet box was still there. He had found the thin elven band at a flea market and paid more than the asking price. Taking it to a jeweler, he had fixed a black gem--one of Mythal’s old stones--to it. 

It had been in his top dresser drawer for half-a-year waiting. Considering that Ellana was just beginning to show, Solas thought he shouldn't delay much longer. A week prior, on their last visit to Keeper Hawen, the old man had berated Solas about the correct order of starting a family. How he had figured out that Ellana was pregnant, was still a mystery to Solas, but it was an accurate guess. 

Solas handed the bottle of wine to Varric, who began to uncork it. 

Getting down on one knee, he opened the box revealing the ring to Ellana who flashed him a fierce frown, gesturing at her belly. "Obviously!" 

"You're pregnant!" Cassandra exhaled in disbelief. 

All of their friends begin to cheer, Dorian loudest of them all. 

Solas didn't hear any of it, sliding the ring onto Ellana's finger, her arms pulling him in for a celebratory kiss. 

"This is going to be a very long party," She whispered to him slyly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I don't know if this ending is too fluffy, but I think these two live LONG, HAPPY UNTROUBLED LIVES. I don't know if we would have landed her except it's 2020 and when I started writing this fic, I thought, everyone here should have a happy ending. 
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck with this fic. It became much longer than I anticipated, and I'm so appreciative to everyone who took the time to comment and kudos and offer feedback-or skimmed. This is the longest piece of writing I've ever produced, and while I would go back and do some things differently, I've learned so much and I appreciate all of you! 
> 
> This fic kept me sane during some dark months, and I just opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate its completion. I'll probably go back and do some editing after a bit of a break (sorry, I'm a writer who is always going back and changing things). I don't know if I've pulled off the subtlest twist, or most consistent story, but it was fun to write and I really enjoy being part of this fandom full of cool and interesting people! 
> 
> I hope everyone has a great 2021 and that this fic might have brought some joy to Solasmancers, non-Solasmancers, or simply bored individuals worldwide. 
> 
> Here is to hoping that this time next year Dragon Age 4 is on the horizon (and a pandemic-less world, of course).


End file.
